Corbeaux en Papier
by hollysarena
Summary: Rose M. Weasley doesn't seem like the kind of girl to journal. But when she does, she follows strict rules. To not let her eccentric best friend get her into trouble. To not get a fifth detention. To avoid certain Gryffindor boys at all costs. The problem is, following these rules isn't always the easiest. Especially when there's a Malfoy involved. (M for language)
1. 6th Sept: The Fourth Detention

**Summary:** Rose M. Weasley doesn't seem like the kind of girl to journal. But when she does, she follows strict rules. To not let her eccentric best friend get her into trouble. To not get a fifth detention. To avoid certain Gryffindor boys at all costs. The problem is, following these rules isn't always the easiest. Especially when there's a Malfoy involved.

 **Rating:** M for language.

 **I shouldn't be starting yet another story but there's something about Rose and Scorpius that I can't stay away from. Any feedback is hugely appreciated and keeps me from going mad in the early hours of the morning. Love, H x**

* * *

 _'She is something to behold, elegant and bold' - Georgia, Vance Joy_

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September**

3:14pm _(Or, the time I should have been in Care for Magical Creatures)_

 **NOTE TO SELF:** Stop letting Bea convince you into rallying with her when you should be in Care for Magical Creatures.

 **NOTE TO SELF #2:** If Bea proves impossible to dissuade (she will), avoid getting into arguments with particular Gryffindor boys when at aforementioned rallies.

 **NOTE TO SELF #3:** In fact, if one can help it, avoid particular Gryffindor boys at all cost.

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September**

3:38pm _(Still not in Care for Magical Creatures)_

In my approximate five years and one week of being a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I, Rose Weasley, have had precisely three detentions. That being said, this number is remarkably low considering the amounts of times I have gotten into trouble due to the reckless people I insist on keeping around as company.

Beatrice Shacklebolt, I'm looking at you.

And, on the third day of my time at this school, it appeared as if I was going to get my fourth. The detention itself doesn't scare me (Sorry, Mum) but what _does_ bother me is the reasons why I will most likely be forced to scrape Dung-Bombs off of the cabinets in the Trophy Room.

Because, at the end of the day, I can handle a detention; what I cannot handle is a detention given due to likes of _him_.

The likes of him being an approximately six foot (six foot, one exactly), blonde haired, pompous and utterly dislikeable _prat_.

But, I digress.

The beginning of this debacle - now officially titled "The Time Rose Weasley Received Her Fourth Detention" - started with a lovely, if not overly assertive, sixth year Ravenclaw that I happened to call my best friend.

And what a best friend she is.

Beatrice Shacklebolt, most infamous yet renowned activist of her age, and I had been friends for as long as I had been in school. Like most friendships based in a place where you generally stuck with those you lived with, it seemed almost inevitable that we would fall into each other's laps.

The origins of said friendship take me back to being a little eleven year old red-head, standing on the platform of Kings Cross, surrounded by one too many relatives to bear. My father (bless him) had sent me off on train with clear instructions; _be a Gryffindor, be a good girl_ and, most importantly, _beat Scorpius Malfoy in every test_.

And much to his dismay, I haven't particularly mastered either three.

While I love Gryffindor house - how can I not, literally every member of my family hails from there - there was something about it that just didn't quite sit right with me. Albus, on the other hand, my eleven year old cousin and companion, dreamed of nothing more than be welcomed into the realms of crimson and gold. And even at eleven years old, I was determined to be something different.

So as soon as we boarded the trains, luggage packed away, and waved our goodbyes, I began my search.

"Where are you going?" Albus asked me, nervous and rather unsettled in the new environment. His older brother's confidence was not a hereditary trait at that point, but instead something he apparently learned through adolescence - but we'll get onto that later.

Puffing my chest out, and putting my hands on my hips. "I'm going to find somewhere to sit."

"Can't we just sit with James?" he asked meekly.

I don't think even I could reconstruct the expression of horror and embarrassment at the thought of sitting with my cousins on my face that I had at that point. In a sea of Weasleys and Potters, it was hard not to drown. I had made a point the night before - in the midst of my late night list creating and resolution making - to promise myself I would learn to swim.

Albus, as observant as my loveable cousin is, took one look at my face and nodded. "Alright, I guess." He wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to get into an argument with me on the train. "I'll go find somewhere too."

With a decisive nod, I temporarily cut my ties from him and started down the corridor. Most of the compartments I walked by had been claimed; loud, obnoxious Second Years who were so thankful to no longer be the youngest, some Fifth Year girls excitedly catching up on the news of the summer, and Seventh Year boys engrossed in a game of Wizard's Chess.

But the final compartment I poked my head into contained a small, dark girl who was animatedly dictating to a hovering parchment and quill. Even at eleven years old, Bea was as fierce as she was pretty. Her black, spiralling curls had been accosted into two tight braids that stuck waywardly from the top of her head.

Her forceful dictation stopped when I opened the compartment door. She looked at me; first with contempt for disturbing her business, then with curiosity.

"Who are you?" she asked, not quite rudely but blunt enough to make me blink.

I slipped into the compartment gingerly, my earlier confidence having waned significantly, and stuck a pale hand out to her. "Rose," I introduced. She simply raised an eyebrow at my hand, then took it gently. I let out a breath of relief. "Can I sit with you?"

Bea gave a nonchalant shrug, something I know knew to be habitual. "Sure. If you don't mind listening to me make my to do list for the year."

 _For the year?_ There was definitely a moment there were I considered the fact that Beatrice might be certifiably insane. What sort of eleven year old plans their entire itinerary for their first year of school?

Still, as intimidated as I was, she was the only person I had found so far that seemed moderately tolerant and wasn't part of the Potter-Weasley clan. I was going to take anything I could get.

I sat down on the opposite compartment bench, and began organizing my bag beside me. Almost as if I had never come in, Bea continued her ranting at the quill and it picked back up to its ferocious speed against the parchment.

Her dictation continued on for the next ten minutes or so, while I buried myself in a very well loved copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. Where my dear father had multiple words of advice to give me upon starting school, my mother had one.

I was about a third into the chapter on the segregation of the Houses when Beatrice finally introduced herself. She dropped into her seat with a dramatic huff.

"I'm Bea Shacklebolt, by the way," she declared as she tucked away her parchment and quill. I looked up at her from my book, of which had caught her eye. "You like reading."

It was more of a statement than a question.

I nodded. "Yeah, I do. My mum's a pretty avid reader so I guess it brushed off on me."

Her amber eyes studied me silently for a few moments. The thing about Bea is that she can appear so quietly invasive, the way her eyes can decipher your every thought in a matter of seconds. I suppose she liked what she deduced on that first day because she hadn't left my side since.

"Have you decided what House you think you're going to be Sorted into?" She folded her hands in her lap, and continued her studious gaze. It was a strange feeling to be watched; it wasn't unlike being interrogated, but it certainly held less aggression.

It was my turn to shrug. "My entire family is in Gryffindor."

Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Not a bad choice. A bit brutish, if you ask me. A lot of my family have been in Gryffindor, some in Hufflepuff too. Have you heard of Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

That name was as familiar to me as my own grandparents'. The tales of the Order of the Phoenix were not something often talked about over family dinners, but there was enough historical context in them that they featured in many of the books in my family Library.

I nodded.

"He's my Great Uncle. Nice enough fellow. Always brings Sugar Quills when he visits."

I nodded again, unsure what to say. Bea's intense stare was still present and I couldn't bring myself to meet it. Looking back to my book, I turned to the next page.

"I could see you in Ravenclaw, you know," said Bea. When I looked up, she had dropped her gaze and had begun fiddling was a small pendant on her wrist. "That's where I'd like to be Sorted."

 _Ravenclaw_. I would have been lying if I had said I hadn't pondered it. For the most part, I wholeheartedly believed that the dark blue of the House would suit me much better than crimson. Red on red rather clashed. But there was a small voice - small, yet pronounced - in the back of my mind that reminded me of where my family loyalty lay.

"I hear the Sorting Hat takes your own choice into consideration," I said, quite quietly. "You could ask it to put you in Ravenclaw."

Bea laughed a little, the warm sound of windchimes. The sound settled the writhing in my stomach. "Oh, I should think that I wouldn't need to. I think I'd fit in there quite well."

I thought so too. In fact, Bea was probably the perfect poster child for Ravenclaw. She was evidently smart, organized and analytical. I just wasn't quite sure if I was up to par.

The Sorting Hat obviously thought differently.

She reached under her seat and pulled out her own bag, twice the size of mine and probably four times the weight. From it, she began to retrieve her school books and pile them onto the table in front of her.

"I think Potions is going to be very favourite class," she mused, as if answering a question I hadn't even asked. "I can't wait to learn about all the different ingredients and techniques. Do you know there's such thing as a _love_ potion? My older sister told me about it. How ridiculous is that. I'm sure there are much better potions with more interesting uses."

I, too, had heard about the love potion. Amortentia was a word I had picked up from my older cousin Victoire last Christmas. She had been teasing Teddy about a girl who had a crush on him, and she said he'd " _slipped her Pumpkin Juice some Amortentia_ ". After a bit of reading, I decided that my opinion was similar to Bea's on the matter; what a frightful thing to behold.

Bea was in the midst of detailing what she had already read of the Potions curriculum when the compartment door slid open, and a familiar figure stood in the doorway. Albus gave me a smile and a tentative wave - he was not alone.

Beside him stood the very blonde haired boy my dad had pointed out at the station, the one I was supposed to spend the next seven years intellectually annihilating. At first glance, he didn't seem so deserving of this. He was similar to Albus in his stature; just the right amount of First Day timid and wearing a gentle smile.

But, you know, this was well before I knew any better and well before he opened his mouth.

"Hey Rose," said Albus, awkwardly running a hand through his forever messy hair. "Want some company?"

Bea was looking at the two of them, her mouth slightly open and indignant, evidently displeased with yet another interruption. She pressed her lips into a thin line before looking over to me, and raised an eyebrow.

"Are these friends of yours?"

Attempting to will away the blush that was slowly rising in my ears, I forced a smile. "Bea, this is my cousin Albus Potter. And, uh -" I looked at the blonde boy, whose name my dad had told me on the platform. "- Scorpius, is it?"

Malfoy nodded, his smile widening a bit. "Hullo." His voice was more controlled than it should have been at the age of eleven, and even without saying anything more, I had the suspicion his vocabulary was something to be envied. He had an air of old money about him, but that was something I couldn't have understood then.

"Well, come in if you're coming in," Bea instructed briskly. "You're making a draft."

The boys shared a look but shuffled into the compartment anyway. And that's, I suppose, where it really began. How we all became completely entangled in each other's lives, and how I, for the next five years and one week, would find myself facing a fourth detention.

Well, that's the beginning of it, anyway.

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September**

5.32pm _(Dinner time)_

So, it is confirmed. Rose M. Weasley has officially received her fourth detention. Angels are falling from the sky, my mother is weeping, and somewhere, I'm sure, Circe is rolling in her watery grave. Another tarnish on the two-parts Golden Trio child.

Eh, what can you do?

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September**

5.34pm

Do you want to know what the worst thing about Bea is? She is entirely unsympathetic, even when it comes to your unjust punishment due to the provocation of some immature, incorrigible _imbecile_.

"Well, if you didn't want detention, you shouldn't have hexed him," she said, in her very special matter-of-fact way. Bea sat next to me at dinner, and carefully unrolled her cutlery from her napkin. "Honestly, there are better ways to deal with annoying boys than _violence_."

"It wasn't exactly violence," I protested, though I felt truly chastised. Bea had a knack of doing that to me. "Nobody got hurt."

"You inflicted an Infinity-Itching hex on him, Rose."

Well, excuse me. That's the last time I do something for you, Beatrice.

I huffed. "Last time I checked, itching is not _hurting_."

"It's still grievous bodily damage."

Grievous bodily damage, my _arse_. He's quite probably sitting up in his dormitory wallowing in the fact that his perfect, porcelain skin is now tainted and girls won't want to kiss him for the next few hours. How will he ever _survive?_

"So, what do you have to do?" Bea asked, pouring herself a Pumpkin Juice.

Even though food at appeared in front of us, my appetite was somewhat absent. I buried my face in my hands.

"I have to clean up the Dung-Bombs in the Trophy Room on Friday," I mumbled. This wasn't the worst of detentions. Once, Professor Shafiq, Potions teacher and Slytherin Head of House, had me clean up after a class of First Years. Who knew that making Pepper Up potion could be so disastrous?

Bea hummed in response, her interest in the situation obviously waned. I have such good friends. Good friends that who _really_ , at the end of the day, are kind of at fault.

Okay, well probably not at complete fault. It was me who hexed someone, but I wouldn't have had to hex someone if I wasn't in that exact place at that exact time doing the exact thing Bea wanted me to do.

So, really, it's kind of Bea and mine _and_ pretentious-Gryffindor-boy's fault. I need to deduce.

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September**

5.45pm _(Or, the Deduction of Who is Really at Fault)_

I was halfway between a morning of double Potions and Herbology when I was ever so rudely accosted in the hallway by a rather energized Bea. She bounded up to me, multiple piles of brightly coloured flyers in her hands, and a determined look on her face.

"I need your help," she said, brandishing a handful of flyers at me.

Another thing about Bea: she will do anything for a cause. Free rights for mermaids, equal marriage for House Elves, subsidized horseshoes for centaurs; she has done a rally for about every cause under the sun. She was what my mother would call a "force of nature". In fact, they got along rather well.

Groaning, I took the flyers from her and read it aloud: " _Welcoming of Werewolves?"_ I frowned up at her. "What does that even mean?"

Putting on her Here-Are-The-Following-Reasons-I-Am-Right voice, she said "This is an important cause, Rose! Did you know that 87% of people inflicted with lycanthropy go unemployed? The stigma around the disorder - which is now highly manageable, I might add - is absolutely atrocious and it's ruining people's lives."

"True," I murmured, flicking through the papers. Which it was. Even though the stigma had significantly improved, fears of werewolves still lay under the surface bubbling away. "But how exactly is this going to help?"

"Awareness is the key, Rose," Bea said promptly. "Werewolves shouldn't have live in fear. They could be your friends, your classmates, your -"

I put my hand up. "Hey, save your breath for the non-believers."

Tucking the flyers into the pocket of my robes, I started back down the corridor towards Herbology when Bea's hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Her eyebrows were raised alarmingly.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Uh, I don't know, fellow Ravenclaw and scholar, doing what we're supposed to be doing and actually attending lessons?

I gently wriggled my way out of her grasp. "Going to Herbology?"

Bea began shaking her head furiously. "No, no. Do you think I gave your flyers to hand out in class? I need you to come hold a demonstration with me."

"I figured that would, you know, happen at lunch or something."

A nonchalant shrug. "It's almost lunch. What's one class? Besides, it's _Herbology_."

"I _like_ Herbology, thanks." And I liked Professor Longbottom. I also liked to think that we were quite chummy. It doesn't matter that he's _technically_ a family friend, but he doesn't seem to mind when I spend the class doodling and ogling the back of Bran Fenwick's head. Neville's a believer in true love, I reckon.

Bea rolled her eyes. "You _like_ perving on Fenwick without being seen. Honestly, you're kind of pathetic sometimes." As if that was going to convince me into joining her, she still tugged on my arm. "Come with me, _please_."

"No," I said, crossing my arms indignantly. "I'm going to class like a _good_ student." I turned to walk away from her, flyers sticking out of my pocket. I could hear her muttering under her breath behind me but I would not give in.

Not this time, Shacklebolt.

"I'll give you my notes on Ancient Runes if you do it!"

I froze. Ancient Runes was the _worst_ class I have ever had the misfortune to take. I thought it would be interesting - reading about it certainly was - but Professor Nordstrom was possibly the most boring person alive. Taking Ancient Runes was like driving a fork into your brain for a solid fifty minutes. Taking _notes_ about Ancient Runes was twice as painful.

Beatrice, however, loved Ancient Runes and had the neatest handwriting I had ever seen.

Begrudgingly - oh so begrudgingly - I turned back to meet her already smug smile. Damn, that girl knew me better than anyone and was very willing to use it against me.

I let out a sigh. "Fine. I want six weeks worth."

"One," she bartered, shaking her head but keeping her grin. She practically skipped to my side and looped her arm through mine. "We're really going to make a difference, Ro."

" _Three_ ," I challenged in return. "And yeah, we'll see."

So, here we were, slacking off Herbology (sorry Nev!) to stand on the Second Floor pestering as many people as we could passing by. We were rarely disturbed by teachers - everyone knew by now that arguing with Bea was pointless - and for the first half an hour, it all played out as it usually did.

That being, it played out as being terribly dull.

It was precisely thirty four minutes into our supposed rally (I was counting), when things started to happen. Things that may or may not have lead to the fourth detention.

And so the deducing begins.

"Fifty three percent of lycanthropy carriers are under the age of 30," Bea called out, waving her flyers at whoever passed by, "This means approximately 210 wizards and witches are unable to find employment due to the stigma! Will you fight back? Will you - _Oi!"_

Bea's ranting was cut off as a Quaffle whizzed past her head, flying through her wild mane of curls she had left down today. It was followed by a distant " _Whoops, heads up!"_ and two very familiar male voices.

The first boy to appear running up the staircase was my dear cousin. Despite once being a timid, nervous smidgen of a child, Albus Potter had grown into the Potter family confidence with ease. Plus, it helped that he learned to comb his hair.

As soon as he saw the pair of us, he shot us a toothy grin, his green eyes lighting up. "Good morning, ladies. I see you're on the hunt again."

He went to reach for one of Bea's flyers, which she promptly snatched away. "It's not a _hunt_ , Al. It's a cause."

One of his eyebrows shot up, and underneath his mouth grew into a smooth smirk. "Well, what's the cause today?"

"Ending the stigma against lycanthropy."

"Nice," he said, and he actually seemed quite impressed. Bea's blush was not hidden well by her complexion either. I will never understand the impression Potter boys seem to leave on women. "Let me see then."

Bea's judging eyes studied him for a slow moment, before tentatively handing him a bright orange flyer. He flicked his eyes over it, then back to her with a smile.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" I scrutinised. "Ginny would have a fit if she knew you were bailing on dear Professor Longbottom."

Albus let out a single _ha!_ "You think Mum will have a fit? What about you, daughter of Hermione? I thought your passion for learning and inability for tardiness ran in your blood."

I tried very hard to ignore the jolt of guilt in my stomach. Where my mother was all in favour of equality and activism, missing classes she was not. I narrowed my eyes at my cousin.

"Well, I suppose we both better keep our mouths shut then."

" _I didn't think that was possible for you, Rosie."_

For Merlin's sake.

It had always stricken me as quite a concept that both beauty and arrogance came hand in hand when in regards to the male species. Or at least, teenage males for that matter. Scorpius strolled - because standard walking was much too _plain_ for a boy like Malfoy - to Albus' side, retrieved Quaffle in hand.

He offered Bea an easy grin. "Alright, Shacklebolt? You're looking awfully pretty today."

Bea simply returned him compliment with one of her own. In the form of her middle finger. Both of the boys chuckled, and share a look. _Their_ look. A look the two had somehow concocted between the pair of them that held some hidden meaning no outsider could decipher.

I hated that look.

"Are you quite finished?" I asked, stepping in between them. I gave them my sharpest look possible. And trust me, that was sharp. I once made a Third Year cry.

Probably not my finest moment, but alas.

I mean, honestly. Surely they had better things to do. Run along boys, break some hearts, violate some broom cupboards, whatever it is you 'cool kids' get up to these days.

Malfoy grinned - that stupid, _stupid_ grin. "You're in a bit of bad mood today, aren't you?"

Narrowing my eyes at him, I took a step back as he stepped towards me. It was universal knowledge that whenever in his presence, I was generally in a bad mood. There was times, once upon a _ancient_ time, where this wasn't always the case. I tried not to think about that.

"If you're going to stick around, at least take a flyer," Bea said, waving a blue sheet in front of his face. He barely even registered it, keeping his eyes on me.

Ugh, such a _git_.

"I'll take one from Rose," he said. There was something in his voice when he said my name that literally made me want to curl up in a ball and _die_. I don't think there is anyone on earth who is capable of being so smarmy, and disgusting, and all around completely intolerable.

But perhaps I'm biased.

I wrinkled my nose (and I imagine, stuck it up in the air in distaste). "A flyer is flyer. Take it from Bea."

"But it's more special from you."

 _Iwasliterallygoingtopunchhimintheface._

"Do you even care, up there on your little high horse?" I asked, quite venomously. It was probable that he didn't. I highly suspect he does not care about anyone but himself - well, except maybe Albus, but he doesn't count.

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up immediately. "Merlin, Rosie. I'm not a monster."

Debatable.

"That's surprising," I said, drawing out my words. "I could swear that I'd seen horns grow out of your head on occasion. You know, usually when you're waltzing around like the _demon_ you are."

I could hear both Bea and Albus sigh together. Look, I'm not proud of the way Malfoy riles me up. Even his presence makes my hair stand on end. There are just some people in the world that you cannot stand, and Malfoy was my person.

Wait, not like, _my_ person. Just my person who had that effect on me.

Wait, _no,_ like not an effect but like -

Nevermind. He was a prat. I hated him.

Malfoy's smirk lost it's mirth, and grew cold and calculated. It was not often he was seen like this, but when he was, it was usually around me. There was a time where I would have said it was the blood in him, and I would have waved it away until he returned to himself.

But not today.

"A demon?" he said, his voice almost quietly demanding. "Really? How is it up there on your pedestal? Is it good to sneer down on everyone with judgement? You should probably check yourself at some point, I wouldn't want to see you fall."

Albus, our conflict radar, stepped to his side. "Come on, leave it be." He placed a firm hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

"Yeah, Malfoy," I sneered, clearly incapable of helping myself _ever_. "Leave it be."

"Oi, that means you too." Albus' glance at me was sharp.

Bea followed my cousin's cue, coming instantly to my side and looping her arm through mine again. "Come on, we'll go to another floor. There's no point in getting into an argument where _neither_ of you have done anything wrong." Her voice was calm but persistent, and held every ounce of logic.

The tips of my ears were burning. Why were they always burning?

Malfoy scoffed, but turned away with Albus anyway. "Whatever. Shacklebolt's right - no point into getting into a drama when I haven't done anything wrong."

Oh, Malfoy. You are always doing _something_ wrong.

Bea's arm in mine was tight as I began to regain a steady breath. I hadn't realized at first that it had quickened.

I watched them as they went, sauntering as the pair of them often did. Still, in his walk, Malfoy's shoulders were tense and dangerous - like barbed wire warning all to stand back. They were already a few feet away, but I heard him when he said it.

"Does this really have to happen every time you see each other?" Albus had hissed. Malfoy had visibly shuddered, as if releasing the anger from himself.

He shook his head. "It's not my fault she's still hung up on something that happened six months ago. I mean, honestly, move on with your goddamn life."

I didn't know I could move so quickly.

Within moments, my arm was out of Bea's, my wand was in my hand, and Malfoy's body was propelled a few metres forward. Everyone froze. Bea stared at me, Albus stared at him.

 _Oh, no._

Red blotches had begun to creep above the crisp collar of Malfoy's white shirt; angry and raw. He let out a cuss - a loud one - and spun on his feet to face me. Breathing through his gritted teeth, he advanced towards me, limbs failing against the material of his robe.

"What did you - _ugh!_ " He had to stop in his walk, overcome by the need to scratch the fast growing rash that was beginning to cover his skin. "Rose, honestly, what the _fuck?_ "

I gaped like a fish. Words formed in my throat but came no further. I think even at this point even Bea didn't know what to say. I'd done some bad things in anger but I'd never done anything _this_ bad.

But he'd hit a sore spot. And he _knew_ it was a sore spot.

"Jesus Christ, Rose," Albus admonished. He came to Malfoy's side, tearing off the robe for his friend to inspect his reddening skin. He gave a stern nod to Bea. "Get her out of here." Then to me. "We're going to talk about this later." It was both a promise and a warning.

"Talk about it?" Malfoy stammered amidst his scratching. "I hope you wring her bloody neck! You are so unhinged, Rose, absolutely delusional!"

I still couldn't make a sound. There was a feeling in my stomach, as if it was being sucked into itself, collapsing like a black hole. I was so angry, so terrifyingly angry.

Bea's hand found mine again, and she gave me a cool look. "Come on. Rallying is -"

Her words were cut off by an angry shout that rang through the hallway. In the middle of the debacle, I hadn't noticed a classroom door open and a small flood of students empty out. At the front of these students stood a very, _very_ angry looking Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Weasley!" She strode towards me, her thin lips taut in a furious purse. "Please tell me that I did not just witness you inflict a hex upon another _student_."

 _Ohnoohnoohno._ The feeling in my stomach was getting worse. It was spreading down my legs and into my feet.

Malfoy grunted, still scratching. "Well, it's obvious that you did, Professor. She's out of her goddamn mind!"

She simply pointed her finger in his direction. "To the Hospital Wing with Mr. Malfoy please, Mr. Potter."

Albus obliged, dragging a grumbling Malfoy from the vicinity and in the direction of the Hospital Wing. Bea's hand still held onto mine tightly.

"Well, Miss Weasley?" McGonagall pressed, her voice scratching my hot ears. "Would you like to explain here why you're out of class and hexing students, or would you like to do so in my office?"

I was going to get a detention. The thought was ringing through my head, alongside a thousand others. Malfoy's a prat. Bea's holding my hand. McGonagall's furious. What did I do? _What did I do_?

"I…" Damn it mouth, work for once!

With a brisk wave of her hand, she ushered me down the hallway. "My office it seems then. Come along Miss Weasley. Miss Shacklebolt, back to class."

Bea's hand dropped from mine and she gave me a soft grimace, but as obedient as Bea was, she was going to return to class. She quickly gathered any of the flyers that had scattered across the floor, and hurried away.

Leaving me to follow Professor McGonagall down the hallway and to my inevitable punishment. God _damn_ it all.

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September  
** 7.42pm

So, upon deducing and upon yet _another_ conversation about the debacle with Bea, I think the conclusion is that it was entirely my own fault. Well, not entirely, but _mostly_.

And I'm sure by now that his rash has cleared up, if not gone entirely. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it either. Bringing _that_ up again, was just -

Nevermind. I'm not going to write about it anymore. I'm not going to think about it. He was kind of right; I _did_ need to move on with my life. And that meant moving on without him in it whatsoever.

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September**

10.15pm

 _Rose,_

 _Meet me at the Astronomy Tower in fifteen minutes. Don't bring Bea._

 _Al._

Oh bloody shit.

* * *

 **Wednesday 6th September**

10.17pm

 **NOTE TO SELF #4:** Next time you hex Malfoy, make sure Albus isn't close by.

 **NOTE TO SELF #5:** Maybe just stop hexing Malfoy altogether. (Unlikely).


	2. 7th Sept: Consequences

**Previously:** Rose M. Weasley has officially received her fourth detention. Reason for this being the fact that she sent whom she believes to be the ultimate prat, Scorpius Malfoy, to the Hospital Wing after a rather nasty hex. You know, because she was provoked.

 **Hello, hello, hello. Thank you to everyone who left your kind words! I very much appreciate it, and I hope you enjoyed the speed in which I managed to spit out the second chapter. It's a little longer this time, and they'll eventually start growing as the story develops. Once again, please leave me feedback if you would like to - reviews are like warm hugs and hot chocolate! Love, H x**

* * *

 _'There's blood in my mouth because I've been biting my tongue all week. I keep on talking trash, but I never say anything' - Portions for Foxes, Rilo Kiley_

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

6:58am

In precisely two minutes, Bea's alarm clock is going to ring. And in precisely two minutes would usually be the time that I would fight all urges to throw it across the room. However, I had managed to cram in approximately two hours of sleep and had spent the past forty five minutes staring at the canopy of my four poster bed.

My head hurt.

My head always hurt after an argument with Albus. Even though most of the time he was as arrogant and intolerable as Malfoy, he still managed to keep a sensible head on his shoulders. I don't think there was anyone quite as loyal as Al - the problem with this being that is loyalty was often torn between both me and Malfoy. This made things rather difficult in the predicament that we were in.

Ugh. It pained me the way Albus talks to me when he's angry. In fact, he's rarely angry, he's just always disdainfully _disappointed_. I'm fairly sure he parented me more than my actual partners ever did.

And believe me, I probably gave him enough reason to.

Do I feel guilty about hexing Malfoy's skin into oblivion? Not really. Do I feel guilty that Albus is terribly 'disappointed' in me? More so.

I am awfully aware that I'm a liability when it comes to spontaneous combustion. My temper is not something I've ever really been able to control, and Albus knows this more than anyone. And it shouldn't come as a surprise that 80% of my temper fluctuations have been at the hands of Malfoy. Particularly in the past six months.

I mean, my relationship with Malfoy was never lacking tension to begin with. That's why -

No. I'm not going there.

Anyway, I am fully capable of admitting responsibility for the fact that I may or may not have been the core of yesterday's debacle. And I've received my punishment (of which I will be facing in precisely 34 hours). I'm not a perfect person, and as much as Albus would like, I don't think I'm ever going to resolve these feelings regarding his best friend.

Sorry Al, but your choice in company is _utterly_ crap.

I am dying for some coffee. Like, dying. My head feels like it's about to cave in on itself going over and over the debacle and the following conversation with Al. What a fantastic start to the year, Rose M. Weasley. Well done you.

Who ever said a new year equaled a new start?

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

7:05am

Bea was awake, which meant in a matter of minutes, our entire dormitory would be too. She wasn't born with the good graces to be quiet in the mornings, and for the most part, I think she banged about like a troll on purpose.

It wasn't long after her alarm that my bed curtains were yanked open.

"Oh!" Clearly surprised to see me conscious, she gave me a small smile. "You're up. Excellent."

I returned a grumbling murmur, and made a half-hearted attempt to close my eyes. My head really did hurt.

My bed slouched beneath me as Bea found it an appropriate moment to climb onto my next to me. She offered a rather stiff pat on my shoulder.

"Time to get up, sun's shining, day is wasting," she urged gently. Opening one eye, I narrowed it at her. To this, she rolled her eyes with a huff. "Don't be dramatic."

"I'm dying."

"I said _don't be dramatic_."

"Who's dying?" Miriam Dixon's face appeared in my open curtain. A lovely girl, and my second closest friend to Bea in our dorm, Miriam was the sort of girl that brightened rooms when she walked in. She was very petite, with a round, rosy face, and waves of blonde hair that fell well past her shoulders.

I rolled into my pillow, burying my face. "I am. Go to breakfast without me."

Bea made a tutting sound beside me, and I could imagine she was shaking her head. Miriam, however, angel that she is, made a soft sympathetic coo.

"Oh, are you ill?" she asked. "Would you like me to fetch someone to take you to the Hospital Wing?"

I don't think the Hospital Wing would cut it. I was in such a foul mood, my head was so sore and I was so embarrassed, that it seems only St. Mungo's would do. Maybe they could set me up in my own ward where I could ignore the world, and do school by correspondence. That would certainly help in avoiding Malfoy and any further complications.

Another tutting sound. "Ignore her, Miriam, she's absolutely fine."

"Oh." Miriam never dealt very well with Bea's habitual bluntness. "Oh well if you need anything -"

I rolled over and gave a dramatic groan. "A paper bag? Polyjuice Potion? Anything at all to not be myself today?"

"Rose, you are being ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad."

Oh, but it _was._ After my anger over the whole situation had died down, it was quickly replaced by the consuming cloud of embarrassment that was currently contributing to my dramatics. I could even count how many students watched me explode yesterday, let alone how many would know now.

Where Scorpius Malfoy was involved, the rumour mill worked very quickly.

Miriam all of sudden grew very awkward. "Oh. Is this about..." She shuffled on her feet, fixing her robes nervously. "Yeah, I heard what happened. Oh, Rose, I _am_ sorry. Some of the boys were talking about it in the Common Room and I overheard."

Wonderful. Just wonderful. I expressed my feelings on the matter with another groan, crossing my arms over my face. This was positively _disastrous_. I had put in so much work to ignore him, to avoid him, ever since last Christmas break only to let all my efforts go in one day.

"If it's any consolation," Miriam offered gently, "We all know what a nuisance he is. I'm sure it wasn't entirely undeserved."

Thanks Mir, you are a peach.

"I don't think anyone is quite deserving of one of Rose's Infinity-Itch hexes," Bea countered with another huff. "Honestly, you get yourself all riled up for no reason. You know that's exactly what he wants from you."

Miriam blinked her big brown eyes. "He wanted Rose to hex him?"

"Well, of course not, but I'd hardly be surprised if he wasn't pleased with the outcome."

Oh yes, I'm sure he was incredibly pleased. Sitting at the Gryffindor table at breakfast, chuckling with his friends about what an absolute trainwreck I am. I'm sure this will make quite the story to tell. Girls will be all over him, showering him in sympathy. He'll rattle onto the boys how I'm certifiably bonkers and I'll never get another boyfriend in my life.

St Mungo's take me now.

Honestly this wasn't fair. Why did he manage to get away with things like this? What about the time he used a Tongue-Twisting charm on me and rendered me silent for an entire Quidditch match? Not the greatest of looks when you're a Chaser and can't yell when you're free for the Quaffle.

The rest of the dormitory had begun to wake up around us - Kathryn Donahue, Piper Prewett and Jessamine Su - and the usual chaos of who had stolen who's stockings, who was showering first and who needed lipstick drowned out my pathetic moaning.

Grabbing my duvet, I let it swallow me in attempts to disappear altogether.

" _Rose,_ " came Bea's exasperated voice. I could tell I was slowly skirting towards the end of her patience, but I was too bemoaned to care. I just wanted to lie here and wallow.

Miriam moved across the bed and gave my covered body - what I assume looked like a disfigured lump to her - a comforting stroke. "I'm sure it will be fine, Rose. Nobody will even remember. I'm sure something else even more worthy of gossip has happened over night."

"What then?" My voice was strangled by the piles of bedding stop me. "What else could have possibly happened?"

There was no response from either Miriam or Bea; they were probably sharing a look and scrambling of what to say. Because I was _right_. Today was going to be completely, one hundred percent unbearable and it was nobody's fault but my own.

(Well, 85% my fault, 15% other unmentionable person's.)

"Well," Miriam began, her voice a bit uneasy. "Well, you know what the boys in this place are like."

Bea added, "Some girl has probably been caught in a broom closet with a Seventh Year Slytherin."

Potentially true. But considering that was nearly a daily occurrence, nothing was going to detract from the rumour of me attempting to _hospitalise_ somebody.

They weren't making me feel any better.

"Rose, have you - oh." Jessamine had now joined the party of girls residing at my bedside, stopping her tracks of whatever she was about to ask. I peeked out from underneath the duvet to see one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows arched at my appearance.

Jessamine Su was undoubtedly the prettiest girl in our year. Half-Korean, half-Bangladeshi, she looked like something out of a fantasy novel. She had perfectly sleek black hair that sat above her shoulder blades, a skin complexion that I'm sure most British girls would kill for, and curved coffee-coloured eyes.

"What is she doing?" The question was directed over me, as if I was unable to answer myself, and relied on my friends to do the talking for me.

"Hiding," Bea replied truthfully, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

Jessamine's other eyebrow rose to meet its twin. "Right." She drawled the word out slowly, judgement seeping through. Jessie was not the sort of girl you would find holed up in bed over a boy.

Miriam, as wonderful as ever, quickly stepped to my defence. "She's not feeling well is all."

"Well, I'm sure Scorpius Malfoy is feeling worse," said Jessie, inspecting her pinky nail. "I heard he was in the Hospital Wing all night."

Good, the bastard deserved it. Still, the satisfaction of her comment didn't stop the horrific embarrassment bubble in my stomach again.

"Did you want something, Jessamine?" Bea asked, quite sternly for so early in the morning. "Otherwise, move out of the way so I can drag Rose out of bed and get her dressed."

Oh Bea, my blessing and curse combined.

Jessie's dark eyes narrowed at Bea. They were far from friendly on the best of days.

"I was just going to ask if I could borrow a few spritz of her perfume," she said. She finally looked down at me, still swaddled amongst dark blue velvet. "Can I?"

"Sure," I croaked. I untangled my hand from my covers to wave vaguely towards my dresser. "Top drawer."

I could practically hear Bea's teeth gritting beside me as Jessie sashayed past me and plucked the small vial of Madame Bellezo's _Enchante_ from the drawer. Wriggling out of my cocoon, I brought myself to sit up against my headboard.

"You know, Rosie," she said, spraying the perfume in little bursts around her collarbone. The smell of violets and jasmine filled the room, making me want to shrivel back under the covers again. "While Malfoy may be undeniably dishy and one would have to think twice about kicking him out of bed, you really shouldn't let a boy get the satisfaction of seeing you mad. It only inflates their egos, and from what I can see, Malfoy's is big enough."

If it hadn't been so condescending, I would have appreciate the advice. However, as the Hogwarts rumour mill worked, Jessamine probably only had half of the story. In fact, most people probably did.

"Keep it," I grumbled, sinking back into my pillows.

She blinked at me. "Pardon?"

"The perfume."

Her slender fingers wrapped around the vial and she flashed me a bright smile. "Thanks Rosie, you're a doll. Remind me to let you borrow my green skirt next Hogsmeade trip, you do suit it well."

She wasn't wrong, it was a pretty skirt and it made my legs look phenomenal. It was a rare offering; Jessamine, keeper of expensive treasures, did not often share.

Jessie flounced away, holding onto the perfume with a small smile and disappeared from view.

From beside me, Bea gave an audible sniff. "I thought you liked that perfume."

"I haven't worn it in months," I countered, though the realisation that it was truly handed over did sit strangely in my gut.

Sometimes you just get over certain smells, that's all. Sometimes they become so cloying, so constantly around you, that you feel smothered. You know, it can happen.

"It is time to face the crowds?" Miriam asked meekly, holding out my hairbrush to me. "It's probably better to do it sooner rather than later."

Bea ripped the duvet from me, despite my disgruntled protests. "Yeah, why let him think you feel guilty? Make him think you don't care at all."

I didn't care. Or at least, I was trying not to care. This trying business is awfully exhausting. They should give medals for people who control their tempers on a daily basis, or money. I'd probably find it much easier if I was being paid for my efforts.

I'm sure trying was so much easier when your arch-nemesis was constantly attached to a family member too.

With a huff, I kicked my legs out of bed and got up. I took my hairbrush from Miriam and braced myself.

Breakfast awaited.

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

8.10am

I thought walking into the Great Hall this morning was going to be different. Not worse, per se, but different. The Hogwarts rumour mill had a reputation to cause mass staring and whispering when an individual involved in the gossip of the day walked into the room. There was none of that today.

I walked in, Bea at my side, with my head ducked down and expecting an instantaneous silence. Instead of the cruel sneers and muttering voices, breakfast time seemed to continue as per usual. Which was nice and normal.

Kind of.

It wasn't until I reached the Ravenclaw table that there was really a reaction. Upon approaching, one of the Quidditch team spotted me and let out a cheer.

"Eh, Weasley!" Thomas Selwyn called out, a wide grin on his face. He began to clap, causing the rest of his gaggle of boys to follow suit. The applause wasn't particularly loud, but it made enough noise to grab attention from the neighbouring Gryffindor table.

Bloody shit.

I didn't need to glare at him because Bea already did. " _Shut up_ , Selwyn," she scolded, climbing onto the bench. "You're such an attention seeker."

"We're merely congratulating our dear Rosie on the phenomenal job she did mauling the competition," Selwyn replied, his grin never wavering. "Would've been nicer if you'd done some real damage, taking him out for the season though."

I just wanted the world to swallow me whole. I refused to look over at the Gryffindor table, but I could feel the eyes boring into the top of my head. I wondered if they belonged to Albus. I wondered if they belonged to _Malfoy_. I climbed into the bench next to Bea, and the clapping gradually subsided. Their grinning stares on me did not.

Bea picked up her fork, and twisted it in her fingers dangerously. "Selwyn," she said, her voice quiet and slow, "Either you shut your mouth or I jam this fork down your throat to make it shut. Understood?"

He scoffed. "Lay off, Shacklebolt. We're on her side. It's just a bit of fun, right Rose?"

Everyone looked at me. It certainly did not seem fun. It just seemed _mortifying_. Why, oh, why did I continue, time after time, to let my temper get the better of me? I just kept my head down, and began piling toast onto my plate.

Ha ha, boys. Well done. Now let's continue with our breakfast please.

Selwyn wasn't done. He leaned across the table. "Oi, what's got your tongue?"

I shrugged. "Just hungry, I guess." Pointedly, I grabbed a piece of toast and chomped off a corner.

"Just leave it?" Bea said with a sigh, now pouring herself a glass of milk. "Otherwise we can steer the conversation back to last season's game when you came off of the pitch with an awfully suspicious wet patch on your crotch. Scared of bludgers?"

Selwyn's eyes narrowed. "Don't you -"

"Tom, come on, mate."

Oh. Oh, _that_ voice. I risked a peek up from my place to see Bran Fenwick, Sixth-Year Quidditch captain extraordinaire, giving his best friend a tight smile. It was the closest thing to displeased I had ever seen cross his face. Bran was the sort of person who saw the positivity in everything. Even when we had particular bad losses, he left the game with a grin.

He was nothing short of beautiful either. Bran Fenwick, if he had been born a Muggle, would have been snatched up by Abercrombie and Fitch in a heartbeat. He was tall, if not a little bit gangly, but he had a warm smile that could send elderly women into dithers. Well, not just the elderly - he quite regularly sent _me_ in dithers.

Dark brown curls, the brightest green eyes you have ever seen; Bran Fenwick was, like I said, nothing short of beautiful.

And he was even more beautiful when he appeared to be coming to my aid.

In my risky peek, he caught my eye and he flashed me a brilliant smile. Oh, my _heart_. My stomach, my head, and my heart, be still.

"Alright, Rose?" he asked, leaning his chin floppily on his hand. "Heard you gave Malfoy a bit of a nasty shock."

Pressing my lips together, I nodded. Swallowing my mouthful of toast, I replied, "You know, what's a girl to do."

At that he laughed. "Bit of a prat, that guy. It's good to see you came out of it without a scratch."

I -

It was -

 _Hethoughtitwasgoodtoseemecomeoutofitwithoutascratch_.

In that moment, sparks were flying, birds were singing, stars were shooting across the sky. My stomach could not contain itself; it no longer withered in embarrassment, but instead was completely encompassed within a cluster of butterflies. He was so gorgeous. He was so _lovely_.

Goodbye Albus. Goodbye Malfoy. Goodbye any other male I ever come across, because I would quite happily sit and stare at him and him only for the rest of days.

And I was a complete potato. I'm sure my ears were turning red again.

Bran sent me another grin, evidently oblivious to the bonanza currently occurring within the frail frame of my skeleton. He pushed himself up from the bench, taking one last squig of his Pumpkin Juice. His Adam's apple bob. _Ugh_.

"C'mon." He gestured at Selwyn again. As Selwyn came to his feet, Bran pointed his finger over at me. "Practice starts on Saturday morning. 9am."

I nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Sure, I'll definitely be there."

Now let me tell you, morning Quidditch practice is my least favourite kind of Quidditch practice. I'm the sort of person who likes to fly in the late afternoon, when the sun is setting over the Lake, and the Forest began morphing into silhouettes. Also, I enjoy my sleep-ins on a Saturday. It's an indulgence I wouldn't just give up for anybody.

But my sleeping schedule was ultimately overridden by my girlish hormones.

It wasn't until he and Selwyn were almost out of the Great Hall, when Bea's voice broke my unconscious, dreamy haze.

"If…" she began, gently wiggling her fingers. "... you don't let go of my hand _right now_ , you won't be able to walk, let alone make it to that practice."

Oh, whoops. In my dithering, it seemed I had clamped onto Bea's free hand at my side and was squeezing it rather hard. She didn't have to look at me for me to know she was far from impressed.

"Sorry," I said, untangling my fingers with hers. My ears were still hot. "I, uh. Sorry."

She shrugged her typical shrug, but I didn't miss her flexing her fingers at her side. "Eat your toast. We have Defense Against the Dark Arts in fifteen."

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

10.00am

I am dying. I really am. My head feels like it's being trampled by six thousand centaurs and no one is offering me any sympathy whatsoever.

I'm just lying on my desk in DADA (one of my most favourite classes, second only to Divination - the fact of which _thrills_ my mother), and waiting for the darkness to take hold. Goodbye cruel word, goodbye Beatrice, goodbye beautiful Bran.

In the case that I will come to my demise on this very table, please find the following will and testimony enclosed:

 _To the future executor of my life possessions,_

 _To Beatrice Shacklebolt, best friend, I leave my first edition copy of "Newton and Flamel: Comparing Our Forefathers of Science", my knee high stripey socks and my stuffed owl (Marceline). It is my dying wish that she, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, neglect to brush Marceline precisely twice a week and must wear my stripey socks to my funeral._

 _To my little brother Hugo, I leave my cat William. This is mainly because I don't trust Beatrice Shacklebolt not to completely neglect him and leave him to starve, but also because William likes Hugo (even if Hugo does not like him back)._

 _To my parents, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, I respectively leave each of them my most important possessions. To my mother, I leave my collection of classic Victorian literature - including, but not restricted to, all titles owned authored by Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters and Charles Dickens. To my father, I leave my broomstick (Firefly 3000) and my secret stash of vintage Chudley Cannon player cards. Under NO circumstances should either of my parents be allowed to view this journal._

 _To Miriam Dixon, darling angel and little peach, I leave my fluffy cream jumper that she likes so much._

 _And finally, to my closest cousin, Albus Severus Potter, or who will be referred to as "one who is currently pretending I'm already dead", I leave the hopes that guilt of my demise will follow him around for the rest of his life. This headache is because of his annoying little voice and I hope he is held accountable._

 _Sincerely, Rose M. Weasley._

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

11.22am

Do you want to know what's worse than Ancient Runes? Ancient Runes minus anyone else to suffer through it with. Bea is no use; she's practically radiant at the thought of the development of Celtic Scripture through Scandinavian and Pagan ritual. Here she is, scribbling away next to me, as if she was writing a love letter to her lost husband at sea and not listening to literally the most boring woman in the _world_.

Professor K. Nordstrom (even in our six years, we couldn't figure out what the K stood for) was the sort of women my Great-Great-Great-Aunt Muriel might call a "spinster". She was very tall, very slender but consistently wore dark grey robes the colour of tarmac. She had a long thin nose, small squinting eyes, and her black hair was constantly pulled up into a ferociously tight bun.

At this current moment in time, she was rattling off a list of different curvatures used across the Northern Sea, her monotonous voice not in anyway helping the pounding in my ears.

Where was my Al when you needed him?

Oh, yes, that's right. Pretending I didn't exist. As if we hadn't shared baths until we were about six, and we hadn't once spent a year wearing matching footsie pyjamas. He was quite happy to pretend that I had vanished off of the end of the Astronomy Tower.

My usual Ancient Runes comrade had hidden himself (quite badly, considering the _constant gaggle of giggling girls surrounding him_ ) in the far corner of the classroom, and was making it more than obvious that he had no interest in responding to my pointed looks.

Fine, that's just _fine_. In case you had forgotten Albus Severus, I had an entire family tree to pluck my new favourite cousin from. Lily, perhaps? Freddie? Whatever, I had plenty of time to dwell on this decision later.

It was safe to say that our late night rendezvous did not go as well as I'm sure Albus expected. I'm sure he thought it would be like one of the many "talks" he had organized with me to chastise my lack of control when it came to Malfoy.

This is how it usually played out.

Albus: What you did was out of line, why is it so hard for you to control your temper?  
Me: He provoked me! He's such a prat, I can't help myself.  
Albus: Then don't lower yourself to his level. Look, can't you just try to ignore him? For me?  
Me: (guilted into everything by his _bloody_ soppy face) Yeah, okay.

But not anymore, friend. Either last night was the last straw for me, or for him, or for both of us, but whatever it was, he was ignoring me now. I don't know how long this was going to last.

Time to start shortlisting the new favourite, I suppose.

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

11.56pm

Okay, there are only four minutes left until lunch and he's _still_ ignoring me. Also, my attempts to try and shorten the list in finding a new favourite cousin have been in vain.

While Nordstrom had her back turned to me - still spouting dreary nonsense about druids and symbolism - I had managed to sneak a memo to my dearest cousin Lily.

 **Lils,**

 **Albus is being positively twatty. Need a new compadre, stat.**

 **Rose xo**

To which she hastily replied:

 **Ro,**

 **You're both being children. I have better things to do. Also, I saw you at breakfast this morning - you need to do something about that tension in your shoulders. Very unhealthy.**

 **Love you, L.**

Well, I never. How _rude_! It seems to be a recurring theme that any of the Potter children are just nasty little gnomes with not a shred of compassion for their suffering and mortified family members. And she was supposed to be one of the good ones! What happened to my sweet, flower crown wearing, incense burning Lily? I mean, I don't think the smell of sandalwood is going to leave my favourite cardigan ever again from spending the summer in her room, letting her deal with my issues and try and teach me a sense of 'mindfulness'. Fat lot of help you are now, Lils.

One potential cousin down, twenty three billion to go.

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

12.40pm

Update: it's lunchtime. I'm still being ignored.

I mean, _really_. How long is this going to last? Albus hasn't spent a full twenty four hours of his life without talking to me before.

When I got Al's note last night, I thought it was going to play out the same way as usual. We'd had enough of these conversations since the Christmas break, and gradually, they were starting to happen further apart. That being said, I hadn't physically assaulted Malfoy before yesterday.

There's a first time for everything I suppose.

Sneaking out of the Ravenclaw Common Room unnoticed was more difficult than one might think. The problem with a house of creatives and scholars, insomniacs run wild. There were no less than six people sitting at various points around the room - slouched over books, playing a modified game of Gobstones.

Piper Prewett was the only one who saw me. "Heading off somewhere Rose?" she asked, looking up from a long scroll of parchment.

I froze in my steps, and drew my dressing gown further around my torso. Forcing a smile, I replied, "Just for a bath. Had a bit of a stressful day."

"Oh, alright - careful not to get caught though. I heard someone in Ravenclaw got a detention today. We don't want to get in anymore trouble in the first week."

It was very, _very_ hard to hide my wince. No House liked getting docked points for their housemates' reckless behaviour, but the Sixth and Seventh-Year Ravenclaw Prefects (of which Piper was one) were particularly brutal about it. Of course it would be up to me to tarnish the House name the first week we're even allowed back on the grounds.

Fortunately though, at that point, it seemed, the rumour mill had not quite reached as far as it would.

I feigned a look of surprise. "Really, already?" I wasn't _technically_ lying; she hadn't given me anything to deny. If anything, it was only - at best - a lie of omission. Giving her a rueful nod, I added, "Duly noted. Thanks for the warning."

Rose M. Weasley: ultimate hexer, even better fibber.

Piper went back to her scroll, which seemed to be covered in a foreign language, and I quickly made my escape. According to the clock on the wall, I only had three minutes to make it to the Astronomy Tower. Being late would only make things worse, there was nothing more that Albus hated than tardiness.

I had just reached the portrait hole, hurrying a little now, when I heard Piper's voice call out again. "Did you forget your towel?"

"My what?"

I turned around to see her raise an eyebrow at me over her parchment. "Your _towel_? For your bath?"

Oh. Perhaps I was not a brilliant fibber as I had previously believed. And if I was not a brilliant fibber when it came to lies of omission, I was even worse at thinking on my feet.

"Oh, I - uh -" I shuffled a bit, desperately willing an excuse to come to mind. My mouth decided to just go ahead without me. "I, uh, prefer to airdry?"

What in the bloody name of Merlin?

 _Airdry?_ One day, I will learn to just never open my mouth again because I clearly cannot be trusted to say something coherent. I'm an actual embarrassment. It's a congenital disease. I am forever bringing dishonour on my friends, on my family and on myself.

Basically, I'm just a bit of a mess eighty percent of the time.

Piper's face said it all. Her eyebrows drew together and she looked me up and down, once. Pursing her lips together, she said, "Uh, great. Not really appropriate, but whatever floats your boat, I guess."

That _worked?_ I didn't know whether to feel ecstatic that I was now free to leave without any further questions or feel deeply, _deeply_ ashamed that I was considered weird enough that 'airdrying' might something I actually did.

I wasn't going to risk sticking around any longer for Piper to change her mind about my apparent reasons for leaving the Common Room after hours. I slipped out of the portrait hole, gave a quick look around the corridor and hurried to the Astronomy Tower to face my fate.

Even though I didn't think Albus was going to be _that_ angry, my stomach still curled up inside itself like a contortionist in a suitcase.

When I finally reached the Tower - panting, I might out, as frantically running of forty-three steps is not what I am cut out for - Albus was already there, his face set in a frown as he leaned against the balcony railing.

"Why are you all red?" was the first thing he asked me.

Sucking in a final, large breath, I exhaled. "Just ran up about a thousand flights of stairs."

His eyebrows pulled together even closer. "Well, I gave you ample amount of warning to meet me here."

"Fifteen minutes isn't an awful amount of time when you're facing Spanish Inquisition descendant Piper Prewett."

At the point, I was leaning on my knees with my hands, but at least my breathing had settled a bit. Albus had moved from eyeing me with doubtful concern to simply crossing his arms in disappointment. I straightened myself, and mentally prepared my tongue to respond to the oncoming lecture.

"You obviously know why you're here, right?" he asked, his fingers tapping gently on the inside of his elbow. He did that when he was uncomfortable, a distracting habit that makes me want to slap his hand most of the time. "We've done this enough times by now."

"'Course I know," I replied, leaning back against the cold wall. I hated when Albus looked at me like that; cold but direct. I shifted my gaze out to the view of the Great Lake. "You're going to lecture me again, I'm going to talk about how I was provoked - which I _was,_ for the record - and you're going to ask me to try a little harder next time."

He shook his head slightly. "You'd think that if you knew the pattern so well, you'd have made a better effort."

"I _have_ made an effort, thank you," I countered. "It's not my fault that you're both attached at the hip. I'm not a Seer, I can't predict whenever he's going to pop into my day without any welcome."

"Sorry, how old are you again? Just because I'm friends with him it means you're incapable of controlling yourself?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, of course not. I mean, it doesn't _help_ that you have terrible taste in best mates."

" _Rose_ ," my name came exasperatedly from his lips. He ran his hand through his hair, gripping it slightly towards the end. There was a quiet moment in which he blew air through his teeth. "My taste in mates has nothing to do with this. I'm not the one facing the jury here - _you're_ the one who has done something wrong."

Throwing my hands up in defense, I replied rather incredulously, "I barely did anything!"

"You _sent him to the Hospital Wing_."

" _He_ brought up - well, you know." I shook my head and waved my hands a little frantically. "Maybe I'd had enough. Maybe this has all just been bottling up inside me, _brewing_ away, and this morning I cracked a little."

An eyebrow shot up. "You cracked a lot," he said. "You cracked _entirely_."

I frowned at him, the knots in my stomach growing tighter and warming in frustration. The problem with Albus is that he plays a lot of games, but he plays them following the rules. He's a strategist, he's guided by logic. In situations like this, there is only right and wrong, black and white - a perpetrator and a victim.

I supposed in this case I fit into the former category.

"You _know_ he goads me though, Al," I said pointedly. "I know you see it, how he seeks me out in a room, how he knows to push all the right -"

"Then don't _let_ him push your buttons, Rose!" His voice began to rise a little, but Albus never shouted. "Honestly, the pair of you are so idiotic that half the time I want to bang your heads together. Some days I honestly contemplate just locking you in a classroom together and letting you have at it. See who comes out alive."

"Oh God, please _don't_ do that."

Like tossing all of his patience into the air, his hands shot up. "Then what exactly do you suggest I do? Because it's not exactly like I can pick between the pair of you."

"Well, you know, I am _family_ -"

"Oh, like that makes you any better than him." Albus turned away from me, gripping onto the railing. He stared out, his shoulders tense. "Scorpius is my family too, you know. He's my _best_ friend. He used to be your -"

"Well, can you please take into consideration that your constant companionship is literally making my life hell?"

He spun on me again. "Ro, _you're_ making _my_ life hell! The pair of you are. And I still don't understand why because _neither_ of you will tell me!"

This time I was in no rush to respond. I blinked at him, taking in his furious eyes and laboured breath. Curling my fingers at my side, I slowly started to count to ten in my head.

For the past six months, I know it hasn't been easy on Albus. I _know_. But it hasn't been easy on me either. It's like carrying a boulder on my back, unable to shift the weight, and every so often a snake would appear to nip at my heels. I don't know what the solution for him is. I mean, I know what I _want_ him to do. But I also know that my opinion on the matter is rather selfish.

"Look." His gaze had softened slightly, but it was no less disheartening. "I think what you both need is a break from each other. A _real_ break. But I can't be the one to side with you on this one. Not this time."

"Al, please, come on."

His voice grew stern again. " _No_ , Rose. I let you get away with a lot, do you know that? You're overdramatic, dangerously neurotic and quite annoyingly high maintenance, but I deal with it not only because you're my cousin, but you're one of my best friends. But _you've_ fucked up here, and I can't keep waving the consequences for you."

Do you know that feeling in a dream when you try to pick something up, and you can kind of feel it but _not quite_ , like its slipping? That's how I suddenly felt about Albus.

I watched him push away from the balcony railing and stride towards the door. He kept his eyes down, away from me, as if looking at me might force him to change his mind.

"Then what are you going to do?" I asked as he opened the door, causing him to pause. My voice was quiet now, all hysteria had leaked away.

He let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I'll figure it out, I guess."

And then he left.

* * *

 **Thursday 7th September**

9.20pm

 **THINGS I HAVE LEARNED TODAY:**

One. Ancient Runes can quite literally drive a person barking mad.

Two. There is only so much annoying pen tapping, paper scrunching, and tune whistling that Bea can put up with before she smacks you on the head with her book.

Three. Albus Potter can ignore me for a very, _very_ long time.

 **NOTE TO SELF #6:** Don't forget detention tomorrow evening.


	3. 8th Sept: Rumours

**Previously:** Rose M. Weasley has officially received her fourth detention. Reason for this being the fact that she sent whom she believes to be the ultimate prat, Scorpius Malfoy, to the Hospital Wing after a rather nasty hex. You know, because she was provoked. Not only that, but after a stern telling off, Albus is now ignoring her.

 **Hello - I'm back again! It has taken literal months to even look at updating this, but I'm starting to get back into the swing of things. Like always, I have appreciated any feedback - good or bad. Let me know what you think this time! H x**

* * *

 _'You go talk to your friends, talk to my friends, talk to me' - We Are Never Getting Back Together, Taylor Swift_

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

7:21am

I can tell today is going to be one of those days. It's raining, I seemed to have lost every single left sock that I possess, and from the sounds of Kathryn's wailing and Piper's soothing (yet ineffective) croons, the bathroom is going to be occupied until further notice.

Looks like I'm going to breakfast unshowered then, I suppose. At least I know people will be screwing their noses up at me for other reasons than the fact that I maimed someone.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

9.36am

Potions is really, truly, rather insufferable today. Usually I'm the sort of girl who loves a bit of experimentation (in the _classroom_ , get out of the gutter) but today everything seems just a little bit bland. Even Bea isn't her usual spunky self. On a normal day, this would be great - however, I need my peppy, no-bullshit taking best friend for some good ol' entertainment.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

9:37am

I am so bored. I don't think I have ever been this bored. And Bea - like _everybody else in my life_ \- seems quite content on ignoring my suffering and pretending like I don't exist.

We'll see about that.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

9.39am

Experiment #1: How long can one irritate one's best friend in order to get some attention around here?

Aim: To untangle the knickers of a Miss Beatrice Shacklebolt.

Procedure: Use a number of instruments (with your own discretion) to achieve desired outcome.

Results: To be determined.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

9:46am

 _Ahem. This journal has been temporarily confiscated by Beatrice Shacklebolt, and will not be returned to its original owner until she can prove that she won't be such an annoying twat for the rest of the day._

 _I mean it. Never in my life have a met anyone so completely irritating when bored and this is highly problematic when all I would like to do is focus on my lessons and get out of this place alive. If Rose M. Weasley cannot control her impulsive urges and_ _ **stop**_ _trying to tickle me under the chin with her quill - I CAN SEE YOU TRYING, ROSE - then I will simply have to either a) burn her stuffed owl Marceline, or b) simply make several copies of this journal and post them around the school._

 _Do I make myself quite clear?_

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

12:39pm

Experiment #1: How long can one irritate one's best friend in order to get some attention around here?

Aim: To untangle the knickers of a Miss Beatrice Shacklebolt.

Procedure: Use a number of instruments (with your own discretion) to achieve desired outcome.

Results: **The unjustified detainment of my personal belongings and a swift smack on the leg. Do not repeat in future.**

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

12:40pm

Three hours later and I have finally managed to wrangle my journal back from the anal retentive that I call a friend. I cannot believe I thought to leave her Marceline in my will; who in their right mind could burn such a cute, fluffy little thing? An anal retentive _psychopath_ that's who.

Said psychopath has a Prefect meeting leaving me all on my lonesome at lunch. There's no way I'm going to the Great Hall by myself following yesterday's breakfast, and the fact that my only other proper friend thinks as highly of me as Thestral poop.

Sometimes I think it's wholly unfair the way people treat me in this place. I should write to the school board, complain about the standards of students their letting in.

Ha, then again I'm sure a student who impulsively sends people into a fitful rash would be the first to go.

I still just cannot shake the feeling - the very burning and forever growing feeling - that I was not completely 100% in the wrong for my actions. People are quick to blame any of their sexual and emotional urges on teenage hormones, but when it comes down to a minor violent infraction I'm suddenly completely incapable of myself? Madness, I tell you. And a double standard!

But I suppose there's no point in dwelling on it. What has happened has happened. Time to start a fresh, turn over a new leaf, preach peace, namaste and all that jazz…

With peace in mind, I need a clear head and a clear space. Munching on some Pumpkin Pasties in a corner of the First Floor corridor isn't going to cut it.

Maybe it's a good time to visit my trusty friend the Library.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

12:44pm

You would think that to work within a community of over three hundred students, one would have to at least possess some compassion and tolerance for adolescents. McGonagall clearly dropped the ball on that one when hiring Herr Feigenbaum. Honestly, there is something to be said for the stereotypes of short, stout German men and Feigenbaum fits possibly ever criteria.

Merely inches passed the threshold of the Library entrance, I was stopped in my tracks by said short, stout German man with a rather displeased look on his face. His moustache was positively bristling! And in hand, he had his usual companion, a clipboard with an offensively orange quill.

"Miss Weasley," said Feigenbaum, scribbling something away - probably something negative - and raising an eyebrow. "I will assume that I don't have to discuss with you the privilege that it is to borrow books from my Library -" ( _His_ Library, as if it wasn't a student resource) "- and trust that this time, Myneman's _Paternity of Potions_ will not return covered in a variety of stains as it did so last time."

Oh, Herr. It evidently takes a lot for him to let go of a grudge, considering the last time that I borrowed _Paternity of Potions_ (bad book, don't recommend it) was in Second Year and it has the misfortune of participating in one of the weekly food fights at dinner that happened that year. It seems in this place a girl can't make one mistake without it haunting her for the rest of her life. And for a book, no less.

Besides I had already been punished for that - sorting out and re-stacking the returned books without magic for entire week! Live and let live, Herr.

I gave him a firm nod, turning on my diplomatic smile that was reserved for situations involving Feigenbaum. "Yes, sir. It won't happen again." For added effect, I gave him a small salute. "Best behaviour, promise."

With a rather doubtful look, he huffed - his moustache quivering still - and sulked away to the confines of his desk. As quickly as I could, I scuttled away into the aisles of books to avoid his glare.

I hadn't visited the Library in quite some time. Partly due to laziness, and partly due to Feigenbaum's constant nagging; but the Library always always retained a feeling of homeliness, like the smell of books reminded me of my mother's own dangerously high piles of books littering the floor of our living room.

That reminds me - I should really make sure to write home otherwise Mum will have a fit. While the Hogwarts rumour mill is like a forest fire, the rumour mill of my family was even worse. I reckon I had approximately until Wednesday to inform her of my tarnished reputation (another black mark on the record of the Weasley children) before it reached her through word of relative. And that would really send her into a tizz.

T minus 5 hours and fifteen minutes until the dreaded Fourth Detention.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

12:52pm

You know, sometimes I find the double standards in this place absolutely deplorable. God forbid I step into the Library without a harsh reminder of my incident with a book years ago, but it's perfectly fine for a pair of hormone-driven Fifth Years perform pre-adolescent explorations of each other's mouths in the middle of the Divination section.

Disgusting, I tell you.

(Of course, there may have been one or two - three at most! - times that I have, too, found myself in a compromising snog in between the covers of _Silent Stars: Light to the Future_ and _Chai Predictions_. I, however, had the decency to at least skip a class to do so.)

But once I stumbled upon the two, a little more dishevelled than appropriate, they quickly scurried off with a quiet _shoo_ to (I expect) continue their embankments elsewhere.

The Divination section of the library was quieter than the rest, mostly due to the fact that Divination was a subject most people neglected to study. Indeed - as all good Seers believe - a skill in Divination requires a gift outside the realm of reading books. However, this means that it has lots of little nooks well out of view from the eyes of the student community.

It was my peace and quiet, and I needed a significant amount of it in order to formulate an acceptable letter home. A bog standard desk in the Transfiguration section just wouldn't do.

I found my perfect spot by one of the low stained windows right in the back of the isle, and settled myself in.

In my bag, I always carried a certain array of things: my favourite quill, a foot or two of parchment, pottles of blue and black ink, an array of hair bands to tame my uncontrollable curls and, of course, my journal. There was always various other bits and bobs that somehow found their way into the bottom of it - receipts from last August, a half eaten chocolate frog and what looked suspiciously like a crumpled letter amongst other things.

I _really_ should be better at cleaning it out.

And I decided that I _really_ did not feel like having to explain to my mother why her firstborn is such a disappointment.

Priorities, priorities…

I guess now is a good a time as any to have a bit of a spring clean.

(T minus 5 hours and 5 minutes.)

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

12.58pm

 _Dear Mum,_

 _I have some good news and some bad news -_

Probably not a good start, and cliched at best.

 _Dear Mum,_

 _Sometimes I feel as if there is a great expectation of me to be a wonderful and immaculate student and I feel this is highly unrealistic. I am writing to inform you that I have received a fourth detention. A parent like yourself should not freak out about this and get yourself into a tizzy and it is common knowledge that you were_ _no angel_ _when you were Hogwarts. IT'S NOT LIKE A TOOK ON A THREE HEADED DOG!_

 _Sincerely, Rose._

Yeah, no…I don't think my mother would find it quite as hilarious as I would to receive a letter calling her out on her own teenage antics. Dad, on the other hand… No, I couldn't. Indirectly causing my parents' potential separation would not be in the spirit of the zen that I am trying to achieve.

 _Dear Mum,_

 _My life is a mess. No one likes me. I am contemplating dropping out of school and becoming a professional busker in Hogsmeade. On top of that, I have received my fourth detention. Because of these reasons indicating that my life is a shambles, I would quite like it if you did not murder me for my incompetence._

 _Sincerely, your destitute daughter._

Perhaps that is a little _too_ dramatic.

In situations like this, it is best to be calm, collected and concise. Channeling my inner peace, I have decided to leave it short and sweet. There's no changing facts, anyway.

 _Dear Mum,_

 _Just to let you know - I have another detention. The reasons for this - in my opinion - are completely unjustified as I feel that hexing a certain person (you know who, I expect) was coming sooner or later. I love you and anxiously await your response._

 _Sincerely, Rose._

 _P.S. It would be appreciated if you sent said response in a letter rather than a howler. I don't think my nerves could take anymore humiliation._

Perfect. I'll send it tonight following my upcoming punishment and (hopefully) before any of my mad family can get in contact with her.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

1:02pm

Speaking of mad family -

As I was leaving the Library, I happened to stumble upon a member of our Potter-Weasley brood. Not unlikely considering there are _thousands_ of us, but a rather nice surprise. Once I'd finished my letter, I packed up my things and got ready to head to Herbology. I quickly decided I should pop into the Herbology aisle, perhaps pick up a book for my end of term assignment. I have no idea what I'm going to do - let's be honest, most of my time spent in that class is spent dreamily staring at the back of Bran's head. He is positively _gorgeous_ after all, and much more interesting than the cellular structure of a Brazilian Trap Lily.

But as I slipped into the aisle, I came across a small group of Fourth Year boys, huddled together and muttering quite excitedly. Amongst the group, there was a familiar of dark brown cupid curls. It was quite obvious that my brother and I shared the same genetics, especially due to the same way our hair haphazardly shot out of the crown of our head without a care. I had the good intentions of trying to tame them while Hugo just let them go free. More to him, I suppose.

He was surrounded by a few faces that I recognized and one or two that I wasn't so sure of. His yellow Hufflepuff tie was joined by another, and Ravenclaws Joshua Braithwaite and Lucian Smith. The others - a Gryffindor and two Slytherins - I didn't know the names of. A bit of an eclectic group of friends, I suppose, but Hugo was usually one to keep his personal affairs to himself.

I wondered what he thought of my entire predicament.

"Oh, hullo Hugo," I said, giving him a smile. Hugo and I had quite a simple sibling relationship. We obviously had our differences and bickered here and there, but for the most part, we were relatively close. Which is why it made it so odd for him to stumble about startled as if my simple "hullo" was a full on assault.

His ears and face burned bright red as he quickly scuttled away from his group. He smiled - a forced smile, I must admit - before replying, "Hey."

Where I was loud and bright, Hugo has always been quiet and dark. As little kids, we all used to call him "Bambi" because of his giant doe eyes - nice and brown, just like my Mum's. He wasn't quite as innocent as a baby deer, however, and used to get into a right temper whenever we called him that.

He nodded towards the letter clutched in my hand, and tugged on his yellow tie. "Is that for Mum?"

I returned his nod with a grimace. "Yeah. I don't suppose you've heard about the entire catastrophe."

"Who couldn't have?" he said. "Everyone is still talking about it now." He lowered his voice and ducked his head towards me, out of earshot of his still huddled friends. "There's some pretty nasty rumours going around."

 _How surprising._

"I assumed as much. What's the damage then? Does everyone think I'm deranged? Being sent off to St. Mungos? I mean, it wouldn't be the first time _that_ allegation has been thrown around."

"Someone said he'd gotten you pregnant," said Hugo, his ears reddening even more.

I'm sorry.

 _What?_

I take it back. If anyone is deranged and needs to be checked by a St. Mungos physician, it is the entire Hogwarts population and _stat_!

In what complete and utter _delusional_ , sick and twisted, and DISGUSTING universe would I ever - _ever! -_ let that pompous, pretentious, pigheaded prick touch me, let alone get me impregnated with his demon spawn.

The thought of this makes me physically sick. Like, the room is spinning, my stomach is churning, 100% likely to vomit sick.

I might seem dramatic but I can honestly say even if he were the only functioning human being on Earth, I would rather see the end of the human race.

Also, how irresponsible does this place think that I am? Sixteen years old and up the duff? Not likely! Especially when a single detention is sending me into a crisis, imagine what I would be like if with child.

You'd probably find me flung from the Astronomy Tower with any luck. There goes any attempt at zen that I was trying to achieve.

"Rose?"

Hugo's voice brought me back to reality, and I found that I had actually fallen against the bookshelf to steady myself. Like I said, the room was spinning.

"That's…" I struggled to produce a word that would convey quite how horrific the feelings I were currently experiencing are. I grimaced and straightened myself with a huff. "You know the rumour mill around here - absolutely bonkers."

Hugo, a little unsure of himself, nodded. He quickly looked back to his group of friends, who were now gathering their things to head off to their respective classes.

"You better go," I said, before he had to. "And me too, don't want another detention to write home about."

With a grateful nod and a quick goodbye, my brother dashed off with his gaggle of friends and left me to my nausea. At least it was Herbology next and I did have the pleasure of ogling my favourite Quidditch captain to take my mind off of things.

Wait a minute…

If Hugo had heard the rumour that I was carrying Malfoy's baby, then…

 _Oh merciful Merlin._

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

1:18pm

On the bright side of things, Bea seems in a much better mood after lunch. I still can't shake the awful feeling that Bran Fenwick now thinks I'm some sort of harlot with terrible judgement, but finding this information out is quite difficult when I can barely string two words together in front of him.

Alas, I am doomed to a life of humiliation and solitude.

"I wish you'd stop carrying on the way you are today," said Bea, adding a Fertilizing Draught to her pot with a dropper. "Your dramatics can be very distracting. It's been 48 hours."

So unsympathetic for someone who claims to be my best friend. When one is facing the crumbling reality that is her existence, her best friend really should be a good shoulder to cry on. But not Bea, oh no. Bea's true best friend is jolly old logic.

I huffed and crossed my arms. "That's easy for you to say. The entirety of Hogwarts don't see you as giant slag."

"No one thinks you're a slag."

" _Bran might_."

Flicking her eyes towards Bran, she sighed. "I doubt he would care in the slightest. If _you_ care so much, why don't you just ask him?"

" _Because_ ," I said, lowering my voice, "it is very difficult to formulate common English phrases when faced with an _Adonis_ , Bea. But considering the lack of a single, romantic bone in your body, you just wouldn't understand."

Her eyebrows raised, the closest thing to a gesture of offended she could muster. "Excuse me, I have romantic bones in my body. I just don't see the point in getting myself into a dither over something that everyone will have forgotten over the weekend."

Hmph.

"Besides," she continued, "your bones are not romantic so much as they are _hormonal_. Just talk to him if it bothers you so much. You're on the same Quidditch team, for Merlin's sake. I would say you were at least friends."

Oh Bea, you innocent, blind soul. Boys like Bran Fenwick are not friends with little, ordinary girls like myself. We're teammates, true. Comrades would be an apt term. But other than discussing the tactics for any upcoming practices, it isn't often that we engage in conversation.

Much to my dismay, of course.

Isn't a girl allowed to be flustered about one boy in her life? Surely that's not too much to ask. It's not as if I'm holed up in my room listening to whiny ballads and plucking daisy petals.

"Will you go the drawers and get me some Goosegrass seeds?" Bea asked. "It'll give you something to do."

Dragging myself away from the table - and keeping my eyes strictly averted from Bran's head - I wandered through the desks towards the drawers. September always made the greenhouses feel suffocating; the end of summer marked the time for harvest on most of the plants. I had to keep ducking to stop tendrils of ivy catching in my hair.

Sometimes I do wonder if Bea has a point. Maybe I am much too dramatic for my own good. I suppose I could still try to find my peaceful headspace (my first attempt had only lasted half an hour at most, after all). It's just incredibly difficult to harness any form of calm when your life is constantly in risk of chaos. Well, not _chaos,_ per se. It's not like I'm facing life or death on a daily basis like others. But I suppose there is a sense of chaos in complete embarrassment - and it was true that I was indeed an embarrassment. To myself and to everyone around me, let's be honest.

I should have really had a look in the Self-Help section of the Library today. Maybe that would sort me out, once and for good.

I reached the drawers and began searching for some Goosegrass seeds. To me, seeds all look the same. It's very clear that I'm not suited to Herbology, but I'm passing easily. I just don't really have much interest in it. But still, I best get the right thing or Bea might smother me in my sleep.

"Need a hand?"

Bran's voice just about made me drop to the floor on the spot. I jumped, slamming the drawer rather abruptly.

" _I'mnotpregnant_ ," I stammered quickly, mushing the words together at a speed no human being could possibly understand.

His eyes widened slightly. "Pardon?"

Ah bugger. I straightened myself, tried to ignore the evident blush in my face, and forced a smile. "Sorry, you just gave me a fright."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. You alright?" Bran was literally the cutest person to ever grace my presence. His face contorted into concern and he gave me a soft smile. I could die in this very moment, it was that adorable.

I nodded, a nervous lump in my throat that always conveniently showed up around him. "Uh-huh."

With another smile, he put his hand over mine on the drawer handle and gently tugged it open. "I'll help you find what you're looking for if you like?"

 _I was going to die. Right now. In front of everyone._ He was touching my hand! If exclamation marks could appear on my forehead, they'd be flashing away.

I let out a nervous laugh. (Great work, Rose). "Sure. I'm hopeless with seeds."

"Oh, I know a thing or two about them. My sister manages the Magical Botanical Gardens in Manchester." He grinned. _That smile_.

"Neat!"

…

Neat?

I'm sorry, but did I just fall into a time machine and transport myself back to the early 90's? Where the heck did _that_ come from? It seems I have a mouth and brain that are incapable of working together as a team, and instead blurt out whatever word they feel appropriate.

 _Neat_. For Merlin's sake.

Bran laughed gently, but not at me I don't think (thank goodness). "Yeah, it's pretty cool. She gets some pretty dangerous pieces in her greenhouses. Nothing they would even think about letting us have at school." His hands rummaged through the alphabetized packets. "What were you looking for?"

"Goosegrass."

As his slender fingers picked through the packets, I studied him. He was being awfully nice to someone he potentially thought was a misguided teen tragedy. Perhaps he _hadn't_ heard the rumour. Then again, he was the sort of bloke who was too mannerly and polite to bring a topic like that up. Maybe he was judging me silently on the inside. I don't know what could be worse; knowing that he thought I was a laughing stock or having to guess what was going on inside that fantastic head of his.

"This is what you're looking for," he said, producing a small packet with violet coloured seeds. He dropped them into my outstretched hand with a grin, and I thanked him. "That's a pretty difficult plant to cultivate though. I thought you weren't really into Herbology?"

I nodded back to my desk. "Bea's working with them. I'm just writing the notes."

Bran nodded in understanding. "I see." He was silent for a moment, and it took me a second to realize that he was looking at me. Like, _really_ looking. The sort of looking a guy gives a girl in only three occasions.

The first: he's trying to suss out her feelings, whether to see if they match his or to make his decision to run and hide at once. I'd say this instance is unlikely.

The second: he's a bit of an idiot, and he's trying to decipher whether or not the puppy fat that you may have accumulated over the summer is in fact a premature baby bump. (Merlin, I hope not.)

The third: he's finally evaluating how quickly he would have to call for a cart to take me off the St. Mungos as soon as possible.

I'm going to assume it was the last of the three.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked, after what seemed like the longest silence in the world. Ah, yes, here we go. He is beginning the psychological evaluation.

I forced my merriest smile (though it very may well have come off as a confused grimace). "Just peachy, thank you."

Bran shook his head and then gingerly put his hand on my shoulder. _Touching me. Again._ "No, really Rose. You seem to be a bit flustered after the other day."

Aww.

Let's say it again, _awww!_ Look at him being even cuter than before, being all concerned and stuff.

"Oh, you know," I said, trying very careful to be casual and not indicate the fluttering mess that was happening in my stomach, "it really was my own fault."

"Well, maybe the hexing but you certainly haven't deserved the rumours being spread around."

My stomach dropped. So he _did_ know. But even hearing about my prospective infant did not stop him putting his hand ever so nicely on my shoulder.

"They're just rumours," I shrugged. "You know how it works around here."

He frowned a bit. "Yeah, I guess I do." He dropped his hand - I squelched the inner voice that cried out at the fact. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you know physically."

Physically? He must be confused. I mean, he knows I came out of my Malfoy encounter unscathed (he said so himself that he was _pleased_ to see so). Or maybe he thought that the stress of being Hogwarts' topic of choice for three days could inflict inner bodily turmoil.

Either way, I smiled. "Oh, of course."

"Because," he continued, and ran his hand through his hair a bit awkwardly (I _love_ when boys do that!), "I reckon we should probably start looking for your replacement sooner rather than later."

Now _I_ was the confused one. Replacement? For what exactly? Panic rumbled in my stomach as I tried to rack my brain for whatever role he wanted to find a substitute for.

"Um, for what?"

"Quidditch, of course. Can't have you playing in a game so rough when you've got two of you to think about."

Two… _What?_

Then it clicked. Not only did he hear the rumour about me being with child, he always 100% believed it. For someone who was so brilliant and gorgeous, it was hard for me to believe he could be quite so _deranged_.

Not for the first time that day, my face grew as hot as a furnace. I tried to speak, but just ending up spluttering nervously and probably gave a rather believable rendition of goldfish speak.

"Oh, it's absolutely no bother!" Bran attempted to explain, evidentially mistaking my disgust and panic for an apology. "The team and I completely understand, and it's just super important to keep you safe."

"No, no, you don't understand -"

He put his hand on my shoulder again, "Rose, really. It'll be hard to see you go - you are my best Chaser after all," (Momentary joy) "but we just can't have a pregnant girl on the team. You need the rest."

If I thought I was going to die before, I was wrong. Oh so wrong. _This_ was much more mortifying. If Bran could honestly believe that I had fallen pregnant, how many others around this place believed it to be true? My friends? My dormmates? My _cousins_?

I shudder to imagine. And that creeping feeling of absolute nausea and dizziness was starting again. This time there was no bookcase to prop myself up on either.

I began to dither unintelligibly. "No, no, no -"

Grinning he squeezed my shoulder. "Hey, nothing to be ashamed of. It happens, right? I mean, you could have picked a better guy. But at least your kid will be set up for life with all his family money."

 _Merlin, no._

"And listen, don't bother paying any attention to the rumours out there. You're a sweet girl and you deserve better. Heck, I might have even asked you to Hogsmeade this year if you weren't already called for."

What was that sound? Oh yes, it was my entire life, dignity and self-worth crashing around my feet. I was going to be sick. I was going to be sick absolutely everywhere. I couldn't even focus on the thought of Bran asking me to Hogsmeade (!) because I was too busy trying very hard not to vomit on his shoes.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to go back up to my bed and never wake up again.

Bran squeezed my shoulder again, once. "But I better get back to my desk. Good luck with the Goosegrass! And remember, don't worry about Quidditch practice tomorrow."

Before I could even splutter another attempt at an answer, he swiftly turned and weaved his way back to his table.

It was official. My life was unrecoverable from this embarrassing and tragic mess. I was doomed to be a (pretend) pregnant sixteen year old and forever tied to the worst bloke ever to grace these school grounds because of a single terrible mistake.

Can I cry yet?

( _T minus 4 hours and fifteen minutes_ ).

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

4:47pm

 _Dear Mum,_

 _Just to let you know - I have another detention. The reasons for this - in my opinion - are completely unjustified as I feel that hexing a certain person (you know who, I expect) was coming sooner or later. I love you and anxiously await your response._

 _Sincerely, Rose._

 _P.S. It would be appreciated if you sent said response in a letter rather than a howler. I don't think my nerves could take anymore humiliation._

 _ **P.P.S. NOT PREGNANT NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE TELLS YOU. PLEASE TELL DAD.**_

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

5:46pm

The handy thing about having an arch nemesis is having a knack of knowing the exact details of their daily schedule. Not to mention that said arch nemesis is very particular in his ways and his schedule hasn't changed since he was eleven years old. But it was because of this piece of useful information that I found myself camped out in one of the broom closets on the Third Floor, awaiting a head of platinum blonde hair to pass by at any moment.

I was still seething. I was still dizzy. The mixture of emotions that were carrying on inside my stomach was too much to bear at this point. I had to put a stop to this crazy rumour and Merlin knows that nobody is going to listen to me. _Bran_ clearly didn't. And when I tried to get Bea to nip it in the bud, she found the entire situation quite comical.

So, my only other option was to come to the source of the matter.

 _Everybody_ loved Malfoy and Albus. And I mean, everybody. Teachers, students - even the remaining House Elves would leave little notes in their dinner plates on occasion! And because everybody adored them so, they would listen to their word as gospel.

You're probably wondering why I didn't just go to Albus and avoid another interaction with Malfoy. Well, Albus was _still_ not talking to me. He's very good at it. And he's very good at disappearing as soon as he realizes that I'm within a fifty foot radius. Trust me, I had tried. I've been left with no other option.

Here I was in a broom closet. Honestly, the way McDougall (the trusty janitor) goes on and on about the cleanliness of the corridors and the like, you'd think he'd be able to do a bit of dusting here and there. I'll develop asthma if I stay in here any longer. There were cobwebs in here from the Middle Ages and about fifty half-filled buckets of what looked like mouldy sludge.

A quick _Scourgify_ might do the trick.

Ah, better. My lungs were recovering already.

I returned to my peeking outside of the door and the target in question just happened to be descending a staircase nearby. Perfect - my time to engage. It's a good thing too considering my detention started in about ten minutes.

I watched him as he sauntered towards the door (and sauntered indeed, Merlin what a complete _git_ ). He was only centimetres away when I quite unceremoniously leapt out and yanked his arm, earning myself a rather sharp yelp from his person. I pulled him inside my cosy little closer and slammed the door shut.

"What the -" Malfoy stumbled into the room and squinted around. His grey gaze landed on me. "Oh bloody hell, what do _you_ want?"

How typical! Acting as if _he_ were the one allowed to prance around all disgruntled as if _he_ was doomed to a life of mockery and failure! The absolute nerve of it all!

I had a right mind to whack that sneer right off his bloody face.

"Well?" he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "Planning on hexing me again? I wouldn't put it past you considering what a complete nutter you can be."

Calm. Collected. Zen. Namaste. Oh, all the relaxing mantras in the world couldn't help me wanting to strangle him on the spot. But being the mature and rather desperate person that I currently am, I put on my adult and voice and tried to reason with him.

"I need you to stop this," I said. My hands may have been in fists at my side, but overall I think my tone was quite reasonable. You wouldn't think so when his eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline.

"Stop what?" he said bitterly. "I'm not the one accosting people and dragging them into broom closets!"

Touché. I took a calming breath. "The rumours," I replied. "I need you to stop the rumours."

His eyebrows descended and his look of disgruntlement shifted effortlessly into a smug smile. _Git._

"Oh Rosie," Malfoy drawled. Did I mention how much I hate him? "How convenient. Coming out of the woodwork for my help when you can't handle your precious reputation being ruined."

I suppose it wouldn't be good for my case if I pointed out that a) my reputation was far from perfect to begin with, and b) that _his_ reputation was also in the firing line, but I pressed on regardless.

Gritting my teeth, I continued, "It's not a case of my reputation, but my _sanity_." His grin only grew. "Have you not heard what's being said?"

"One or two things," he mused. "All in my favour. My personal favourite is the one where you have a strange neurological disease that causes fits of anger and will ultimately end in your shipment to the closest mental facility."

If only.

"What about the one where I'm _carrying your spawn?"_ I countered.

Well, that certainly removed the smug look I so eagerly wanted to wipe from his face. It took him a few seconds to regain himself, then he frowned at me.

"What?"

Ah, ever so eloquent. Sometimes, it was rather difficult to believe such a boy had been raised in a prestigious home with etiquette lessons and socialization training since he was born. But I digress.

I straightened myself, and repeated, "The one where I am pregnant with your child. Lord knows who started it, and Lord knows _why_ these dingbats around here actually _believe_ it, but it is indeed a rumour that is being spread and that half of the Hogwarts study body has decided to take as truth."

Malfoy's eyes were hard to read - they always have been. His frown didn't lessen, but brought his thumb to his chin, deep in thought.

"And you're not just being dramatic?" he challenged, looking at me hard. "Because, Merlin, Rose, we all know how well you blow things out of proportion."

Dramatic as I may be, I thought even Malfoy himself would understand the desperation I faced in talking to him _in person_ and asking for his help. My dignity and pride were in a sinking ship and I was going down with them.

"I am _not_ being dramatic!" I cried, crossing my arms. "Why on earth do you think I would come to you if it wasn't _entirely necessary_? Like you said - I'm not exactly on speaking terms with you."

"Then why did you think I'd help? You _sent me to the Hospital Wing_ and now you expect me to fix all the little problems going on in your life - no, thanks."

Malfoy started towards the closet door, but I promptly set myself in front of it, blocking his path. He glared down at me, and he was so close I could feel his breath move my hair.

"Excuse me, Weasley," he said.

I returned his glare, unmoved. "This rumour is absolutely ridiculous, and you know it. It's not just detrimental to _my_ reputation, but also to yours! What do you think will happen when your dad finds out? Do you think that's the sort of thing to be just be swept under the rug?"

"It's just a rumour, Rose," he said, rolling his eyes. "My father is not an idiot." He pushed closer towards me in an attempt to reach the doorknob. "Like you said," he continued, his mouth by my ear, "who in their right mind would possibly believe that I had the terrible judgement to sleep with you?"

 _I could bloody well murder him._

It was hard to believe that six months ago, a situation like this - his body in such a close vicinity to my own - would have rattled very different emotions within me. Sometimes I find myself laying awake at night and wondering where on earth it went wrong…

But then I remember what an absolute prat he is and I don't have to wonder anymore.

I pressed my back further into the door. "Malfoy, _please_." Oh dear. I cannot the last time I had begged him for something. He looked at me sharply. "Please, I'm being kicked off the Quidditch team because I'm not 'physically suited' to playing anymore, people are constantly staring and whispering whenever I walk into a room, and let's be honest, the idea of us being… _intimate_ is just as disgusting to me as it is to you!"

After a long, silent moment, he stepped back from me with a sigh. "I still don't see why I should help you."

Neither did I. In all honesty, I wouldn't be helping him if I were in his shoes. Even with our history. But like I said before, I was desperate and desperate times call for desperate measures.

Once upon a time, he would have helped me in a heartbeat. And, as I've begged already, I saw no reason not to bring that up now.

Rose M. Weasley, pulling at heartstrings circa Sixth Year.

"I know that you don't want to help me," I said, forcing my voice to be as endearing as possible. "I know that we're not friends anymore - and that I don't want to be. But we were once. And if you valued our friendship at all, you would do this one favour for me now. Just this one."

He studied me coolly for what felt like a very long time. Merlin, my legs were starting to hurt he was looking at me for so long. I shifted against the door uncomfortably and willed him to speak.

"No," was all he said. _What?_ After all that deliberating and heavy sighing nonsense, all he said was _no_?

I gaped up at him. "You won't put a stop to them?"

He shook his head.

"But no one will _listen_ to me! Of course they'll listen to you because you've brainwashed them all into thinking you're some sort of god! Why do you want this to keep going on?"

Reflexively, I grabbed his arm before I even thought about what I was doing. His skin was warmer than I always expected it to be, considering he was so pale. It was a bad habit of mine, reaching to touch him, and I was trying very hard to break it.

He didn't yank his arm away, but instead set his cool gaze on me once again.

"You're the reason we're in this mess, Rose," he said quietly, "not me. And I don't mean the rumours. I mean, _all_ of it. For once in your life, grow up, move on and accept the bloody consequences on your actions."

Finally, he moved his arm from my grip and pushed past me towards the door. I didn't have the energy to stop him again. In less than a few moments, he was out of sight, leaving me with an awful weight in my chest.

Merlin, I hated him. I hated him _so_ much.

How dare he blame me for all of this? He was the catalyst! _He_ was the reason we were no longer on speaking terms. _He_ was the reason my own cousin wouldn't stay in the same room as me, and now _he_ is the reason everybody thinks I am up the duff!

Well then. I suppose there's no reasoning with a _sociopath_. Not that I had time to, because looking at the clock, I was precisely three minutes away from being late for my dreaded fourth detention.

 _Oh, bloody sod it all_.

* * *

 **Friday 8th September**

10:49pm

Never in my life have I been more relieved to see my own bed. After a day like today, I can't imagine wanting ever to leave. This seems to be a recurring pattern in my life.

Sometimes I wonder if it's too late to be home-schooled. My grades would be good enough and it's hardly as if they'd deny my mother teaching me with a passion for academia like hers. Though, she'd probably refuse outright and claim I was being melodramatic. Another recurrence.

And what on earth would Bea do? No one else would put up with her snarky personality. She'd be doomed to be friendless for her last two years of Hogwarts. I couldn't do that to her.

Yet, the prospect of going down to breakfast tomorrow with the full knowledge that everyone thinks I'm some huge harlot with no self-restraint is enough to send me into a self-induced comatose.

At least the detention wasn't _completely_ awful. Not comparatively to the rest of the day. Funnily enough, cleaning dungbombs was where I finally found some zen. I wonder if I could make a career out of that?

On second thoughts, maybe not.

Ugh, I am so over this place and we're only a week in. Surely things can only get better from here.

… _Surely_.


	4. 9th Sept: Surprises

**Previously:** Rose M. Weasley has officially faced her fourth (and she hopes, _final_ ) detention, but her troubles don't really stop there. Rumours are now circulating that imply she's a bit of scarlet-letter adorning harlot. Albus is _still_ ignoring her.

 **Hello, hello again! A quick update considering the huge gap between the second and third. Thank you for any feedback and follows, it is always appreciated! Please feel free to leave your thoughts, I do love reading them - even if its just to say hi! Love H x**

* * *

 _So even when your bones feel like weights, And it's hard to lift the smile on your perfect face, You can still find a perfect place - Rise, Selena Gomez_

* * *

 **Saturday 9th September**

7:30am

 **List of reasons Rose M. Weasley will not be leaving her bed today:**

It is a Saturday and she reserves the right to act like a normal sixteen year old girl and do nothing but sleep

Friday nights (such as last night) mean that she has only had a few hours of sleep and needs reason #1 to recover

She only had a few hours of sleep due to a screaming fit between Kathryn Donahue and Piper Prewett (their friendship has certainly turned since yesterday morning)

Because of this lack of sleep, she is not energized enough to deal with the evident shitload of embarrassment she will face today

Said embarrassment will obviously be the fault of none other than S. Malfoy

Pregnant women (as she apparently is) need sleep

Pregnant women are also apparently incapable for playing Quidditch, therefore she has no reason to attend her 9:00am training

She just wants to, okay?

* * *

 **Saturday 9th September**

7.41am

I did not want to face today. I know that I have said this nearly every morning since arriving to school this year, but I really, _really_ mean it. My head hurts again, Albus still isn't talking to me, Bea is nowhere to be seen (the last time I checked) and stupid, _stupid_ Malfoy refuses to help me out.

What exactly is there to get out of bed for?

The grumbling sound of my stomach dictates that, in fact, food may be a very valid reason but perhaps I could con Bea into bringing me some toast in bed. That is, if she ever reappears.

The dorm was awfully silent this morning which makes a nice change from last night. I don't know what was going on, but when I came upstairs from my detention things seemed to have divulged into chaos. I suppose it's nice to know I'm not the only one have a spectacularly awful first week.

Anyway, I came upstairs around 9 o'clock, following a rather extensive three and a half hour long dungbomb clean and was very ready for my bed. The shouting was so loud you could hear it from the staircase and it was so exciting that a few Second Years sat huddled around our dormitory door.

"Oi!" I said when I saw them, causing them to scuttle like ants back towards their own bedrooms. Honestly, as if Second Years didn't have enough of their own drama to worry about. Once they'd moved out of my way, I walked into the warzone.

"You _horrible, awful, slimy, stupid bint_!"

Our usually neat and tidy dorm room was an array of plush navy blue blankets and feather down pillows. Books had been thrown from their bookshelves, make up was scattered everywhere, and Kathryn and Piper stood at opposing sides of the room. Kathryn's face was streaked with tears and mascara and Piper was looking awfully sorry for herself.

The attacking words had from the former, who had now succumbed to yet another fit of blubbering. Jessamine simply sat on her bed and watched the madness, filing her nails as she did. She caught my eye as I walked into the room and bolted up from the bed.

"Oh thank _goodness_!" she cried with more relief than I was expecting. "Rose, please, you have to talk some sense into the pair of them. They're acting like thirteen year olds!"

" _Thirteen year olds_?" screeched Kathryn, who had not quite recovered from her sobbing. "The only person acting like a thirteen year old is that witch over there!" She pointed an accusing finger at her (I'm assuming former) best friend. Piper, upon being pointed at, reddened.

I closed the dormitory door behind me rather dumbfounded. While Kathryn was usually caught up in some drama or another, it was not often that the accusing fingers were being pointed at any of us in the dorm. Despite housing six sixteen year old girls, we usually got along somewhat well.

"I told you!" Piper plead back, attempting to walk towards Kathryn. She was stopped in her tracks as another book flew through the air, narrowly missing her head and smacking one of the four posts of a bed. "It was an accident, I _swear!_ I didn't even know that you _liked_ him!"

Kathryn snorted loudly, partially due to her snotty nose, I'm sure. "Oh, _of course_ , because you don't listen to anyone or care about anyone but your bloody self! I told you that I -"

"You told me you liked a _Thomas_ ," Piper said, "You didn't tell me his last name! There are _thousands_ of Thomases in England, Kat!"

"And you just _happened_ to pick mine?" Kathryn was getting incredulous now. She started towards Piper, who with a squeal, jumped up onto the window seat. "How very _likely_ , you self-centred, nasty piece of -"

I was so utterly bewildered at this point and all I wanted to do was go to bed. I still had Jessie hanging off my arm, giving disapproving tuts every so often. After my nightmarish day (read: week) I really was not in the mood.

"Okay, stop!" I had yelled out at them. "Stop it now. This is ridiculous!"

The remaining three pairs of eyes in the room shot towards me, and all of a sudden I regretted opening my mouth. Surely I had enough on my own plate without spooning on Piper/Kathryn turmoil for seconds.

Regardless, I had spoken up now, my mouth had shot itself into the sky and it was my job to attempt to land smoothly.

I cleared my throat. "Neither of you are acting like thirteen year olds -" I ignored Jessie's disgruntled huff, "- but you are acting like idiots."

Both Piper and Kathryn opened their mouths to object, but I put up my hand to quiet them. Their mouths closed.

Surprising, eh? Mediator Rose Weasley - something I _could_ make a living out of!

"You're best friends and having an argument like this in the middle of the night isn't going to solve anything." Oh, look at me go! For someone who is unfortunate enough to have her own life quickly disappearing down the drain, I can be awfully good at conflict management. The pair of them looked at each other, both rather sheepishly even if Kathryn was still blotchy and red.

Now was the time for me to put on Mediator hat and sit down and try to restore some peace and quiet in the dorm. I pointed towards Piper.

"Jessie, sit with Piper," I said. One of her eyebrows shot up and I realized that perhaps she was not so susceptible to my Mediator ways. " _Please_ ," I added, for good measure. With a huff, she removed herself from my side and went to sit by the window seat with Piper. In turn, I walked towards Kathryn, took her elbow gently and guided her to a safe distance from her target of assault.

We sat on the edge of my own bed (as much as we could when it was _covered_ in books and clothes), and faced Jessamine and Piper.

"Right," I began. Or, well, I didn't actually know where to begin. Perhaps I was not so prepared for this mediator role as I had thought. I racked my brain for where to go from here. "Right… well…" I was stalling now. Probably not a great look.

What exactly did people do in situations like this? I wasn't used to girlfriend fights - Bea and I might have had our grumbles here and there, but I don't think we had ever had a _proper_ argument. I was used to arguing with boys - mostly Malfoy - but that wasn't quite the same thing.

Piper, Jessie and Kathryn all continued to watch me expectantly. Oh, bugger it.

"Right," I said, for the third time making myself look like a complete loon. "Kathryn - why don't you tell me your side of the story? And meanwhile, Piper, you just listen and then you'll get a chance to tell me yours."

Both of them opened their mouths to protest, but Jessamine's quick squeeze of Piper's hand seemed to silence things on that end. Kathryn, however, continued.

"Well, it's simple really," she spat, her eyes shooting daggers towards her (ex?) friend. "Piper Prewett is a complete and utter slag and can't keep her hands to herself! Even though she _knows_ how I feel about him!"

"Excuse _me,_ but -" Piper had begun to talk, but once again was silenced by a sharp look from my direction.

"It's _Kathryn's_ turn. Kathryn, continue."

Kathryn sucked in a huge breath, puffing out her chest as she did. "I told Piper on the train on the way back to school that I had met a nice boy called Thomas - a Seventh Year -"

"There are _plenty_ of Seventh Years called Thomas!"

"Piper, be _quiet_." I ran a hand down Kathryn's back in attempt to be comforting. I don't think it worked the way she looked at me as if I'd grown a second head. I cleared my throat and dropped my hand. "Go on."

"Anyway, we had had such a lovely summer. It was truly like something out of a romance novel, and…"

If I'm being honest, I was much too exhausted to listen to her metaphoric rendition of Summer Nights from _Grease_ , and didn't really pay attention. It must have gone on for at least a minute or so because when I zoned back into the conversation, Piper was as bright as a beacon in indignation and Kathryn had started to cry again.

"... and it was so perfect and _she_ went and wrecked it all!" Another accusatory finger in Piper's direction.

Honestly, all this finger pointing made me feel like I was on a terrible relationship-based talk show. In a minute, I'd have to employ some of the Sixth Year boys to come and act as security guards for when things got too rowdy.

"Okay, I see," I said, nodding. I took a moment to reach across to my tissue box and produce a number of them for Kathryn to blow her nose on. Which she did. Loudly. While she did this, I turned to Piper and Jessamine and offered a diplomatic smile. "And what is your version of the story, Piper?"

Beside me Kathryn snorted sarcastically, but thankfully did nothing else. Piper, shifting in her indignation, cleared her throat.

"Well, what Kathryn said _is_ true. But what she didn't say was that other than the fact that his name was Thomas and that he was a Seventh Year, I had no other information given to me whatsoever! How was I supposed to know it was the same bloke?"

"That's such a _lie!_ I told you everything about him! What he looked like, what star sign he was -"

"Oh, _come on_ Kat, as if anyone has time to pay attention to you when you drivel on like that!"

" _Best friends should have the time!_ " Kathryn screeched to this.

Piper rolled her eyes in return. "Yeah, well it's a full time job being _your_ best friend. Maybe you, as a 'best friend' should start being more considering and shut up every once and awhile."

"Oh, you stupid -"

Okay, I had had enough of this. I was wrong to think this was ever going to be a good idea. I was not equipped nor qualified for these sort of dramatics. And Jessamine wasn't helping in the slightest when she continued to give Piper agreeable nods and muttering things into her ear.

Huff. I was tired. I wanted my bed.

"Well, what would fix this situation, Kathryn?" I tried, secretly praying that the answer might just be that it could fix itself.

She sniffed hard. "Nothing. Nothing can fix my broken trust. Prewett is practically dead to me as she is an awful excuse for a friend."

It was Piper's turn to gasp, but this time I could see she was legitimately hurt at Kathryn's dig. " _Dead_ to you? Well, you self-entitled, self-centered, spoilt cow, you can bugger off! Good luck finding someone else that will put up with your crap all the time!"

"Fine!" Kathryn snapped, retreating from my own bed and throwing herself on hers. "But let it be known that I am _not_ talking to you, Prewett! Our friendship is _over_."

With a dramatic flourish, she yanked her bed curtains closed, and for the first time that evening, the dormitory was silent.

Jeez, girls eh?

"Are you okay, Piper?" Jessamine asked, looking to Piper who was still perched on the window seat. I hadn't noticed, but Piper was the one whose eyes had now welled with tears. She nodded to Jessamine, biting her lip hard, before rather hurriedly disappearing into the bathroom with a decided slam of the door.

I looked at Jessamine and sighed hopelessly. She rolled her amber eyes and returned to filing her nails, while the room was still a complete shambles.

Well, I suppose I was the one who was tidy this all up.

Typical!

I work so hard to keep the peace and I'm rewarded with chores. That's it - this mediating nonsense is _certainly_ not for me. That was certainly short lived.

Why does one even bother?

* * *

 **Saturday 9th September**

7:42am

Hang on. Where in Merlin's beard is Bea?

I am being awfully self-absorbed at the moment that my own flailing attempts at keeping myself afloat have occupied me so much that I didn't even notice her absence in the dormitory last time. I thought she had just gotten up before me, but I remember that she wasn't present for the Donahue/Prewett showdown. I mean, thank God - I don't think Bea's snarky remarks could have helped the situation.

But still, where on earth could she be? It definitely was not like her to spend the night away from bed. She didn't have any potential suitors I knew about. Good luck to them if she does, though. Nah - it wouldn't be that.

This is puzzling.

* * *

 **Saturday 9th September**

8:03am

I didn't have to be puzzled for long. Or at least, Bea reappeared. Without explanation, of course, but what she reappeared with distracted me from asking.

"Get up," she instructed. Along with her words, there was a heavy weight dropped rather rudely on my stomach. Ouch. I squinted up at her and wriggled up to sit against my pillows. Atop my torso sat my Quidditch uniform, along with my broom.

I let out a groan. "No, Bea. You know that Bran won't let me play." I attempted to hide back under the covers, but this proved more difficult than I had expected when my uniform and broom was in the way.

She tutted one of her infamous tuts, and grabbed the duvet away from. _Why_? Had Bea not the decency to read my previous list of reasons why it was perfectly UNACCEPTABLE for me to leave bed today? Why can't a girl just be left in peace to drown in her sorrows and accept her fate as a pretend-pregnant-to-a-prat harlot?

Because she has stubborn mates, that's why.

"Fenwick is going to let you play," Bea informed, matter-of-factly.

"Didn't you hear my rant at dinner last night? He thinks I'm preggers, up the duff, _with child_." I shot her a pointed look and tried my best to look as pathetic as possible. It probably wasn't hard. I am the poster child for tragedy.

But my looks wouldn't work on her. "He's going to let you play," she repeated. She didn't go on, which I very much wanted her to, but I was too tired to press on. _Just let me stay in bed_. "Come on," she prompted again. "You're going to be late."

Maybe he'd had a change of heart and had decided that in the early trimesters it was quite possibly for a pregnant person to play Quidditch. After all, Aunt Ginny had played until well into her second when she was pregnant with James. Nevertheless, I chose not to subject myself to another stern word from Beatrice and began gathering my things.

Because it was a Saturday, nobody else was awake. For that, I had to say I was thankful. My mediocre mediating skills had been tapped out, I'm afraid, and another incident between Piper and Kathryn might have sent me straight back to bed.

Today was going to be truly, truly horrific. Not only do I have to go to Quidditch practice (though I am grateful that I'm still allowed, at least for _now_ ), I have to face breakfast. Being a Saturday, it will be quieter than usual, so I suppose there's that.

Sigh. Woe is me.

"I'm giving you ten minutes to shower and get dressed then I'm going to breakfast without you," Bea said, now occupying my own bed with a copy of _Friendfyre_ (her favourite activist magazine). Well, that was me told. At least I'd have someone to hold my hand during the ordeal.

Like I said, woe is me.

* * *

 **Saturday 9th September**

11:39am

Something odd has happened.

And when I say something odd, I mean something completely and utterly mystifying.

I am thoroughly surprised, and with my life like it is, it takes a lot for that to happen. At least, it takes a lot for it to be _pleasant_ surprise.

But…

Oh, I just don't even know.

* * *

 **Saturday 9th September**

11:42am

 **List of things that have been pleasant surprises, date: 09/09:**

1) Breakfast wasn't a complete nightmare.

I'm not quite sure what I expected.

Maybe I thought it would be like a scene out of _The Scarlet Letter_. All eyes would be on me as silence befell the Great Hall, and I would to the Ravenclaw table like walking to my execution block. The odd Third Year boy might have called out a jeer. Maybe girls would shake their heads and tut under their breaths.

I don't know, but whatever I was expecting, I was had thoroughly thought wrong.

Breakfast was completely and utterly _normal_. Well, I mean, it was early on a Saturday so it was much quieter than usual with half the school population opting to sleep in until noon. Not everybody had to face the grueling prospect of a nine o'clock Quidditch practice. But still, there was no hushed whispering, no pointed stares - it seemed that life had continued to go on around me and no one could care less about my presence.

And this made me feel…

I don't know. _Disappointed_? No, well, not disappointed exactly but I was a little put out that I'd worked myself up all this time for absolutely nothing! Especially when the rumour mill had proved so efficient in its handy work over the past two days. Maybe it was just that everyone was too tired - or in the Seventh Years' cases _hungover_ \- that their own problems were more worthy of a thought than mine.

Still - I was a potentially pretend-pregnant-to-a-prat! Surely that warranted some sort of scandalized reaction when I walked into a room? I almost _wanted_ the negative attention, just to show to Bea that my earlier dramatics were completely warranted.

Now I just looked like a bit of a plonker.

To prove this, Bea gave me a knowing smile as she sat next to me at the breakfast table. She didn't say anything straight away, occupying herself with a glass of Pumpkin Juice. I was too busy looking suspiciously around the Hall to bother serving myself; I was waiting for the next bomb to drop.

"Oh pack it in," Bea said good-naturedly, and began spooning scrambled eggs onto my plate. "It's just breakfast. You're acting as if someone's going to jump you."

I looked at her and frowned. "Everyone is acting… normally."

"Well, yes Rose, I hate to inform you but the world does not in fact revolve around your and Scorpius' little arguments," she said matter-of-factly. She pushed my plate in front of me, now filled with eggs, mushrooms and fried tomatoes.

Indignant as I was at the thought of her thinking I was _that_ self-obsessed, I was too confused (and possibly just a little paranoid) that something awful was about to happen. Looking at how to rest of my week had panned out, it wasn't terribly unlikely.

"Everyone seemed to be quite interested in them yesterday," I pointed out. Merlin, Hogwarts food was quite literally a godsend. I don't know what they do with their fried tomatoes (balsamic maybe?) but they were always so delicious, and even better than my Granny Weasley's (sorry, Gran!). After chewing a mouthful of eggs, I added, "Including _Bran_. And speaking of, why exactly am I suddenly deemed physically fit enough to play?"

"Someone must have had a word with him," was all she would say.

But who? It was clear after our conversation last night Scorpius was _not_ the culprit, and Albus - one of the only other logical possibilities - was still holidaying in the land of Let's-Ignore-Rose. Whoever it was, I was very thankful. Maybe they were also the reason everyone was carrying on about their day without giving me a second look.

Thanks, Mr/Mrs Enigma, you're quite the gem!

Munching on my tomatoes and eggs, I let my gaze wander around the Hall again, attempting to weed out any potential masked knights-in-shining-armour. Instead, I just ended finding the toad who'd gotten me in this situation in the first place.

Scorpius sat at the Gryffindor table, sans Albus, with a book in his hand. I would have had to squint to tell you what it was, but I could make an educated guess. Scorpius, like myself, was all about classics and had a particularly penchant for ancient civilisations. His favourite book was the _Iliad_ \- a bad choice in my opinion, and the reading equivalent of watching paint dry. But, he loved it and read it at least twice a year.

As he was flicking through the pages of his book, I wanted to see if I could figure out what sort of mood he was in. Had the rumours been affecting him at all? Had he even noticed the change in attention this morning? Not likely, as he rarely notices anything going on outside of his own head.

How on earth could I ever have been friends with such a _tosspot_? Even looking at him was enough to send me into angered hives! Perhaps that was what was wrong. Maybe I was allergic to him.

What is that people do when they're allergic to something? Avoid it at all costs? Well, other than having the unfortunate fate of sharing more than a few classes with him, I'm sure that was achievable. I'd been attempting to do it since December and up until earlier this week was doing a grand job. That would surely appease Albus too.

I looked like I'd been given a clean slate in all this rumour business and I should be taking advantage of that. I will try to, once again, harness my inner zen energies, practice complete calmness and eradicate all negativity from my life. That includes the likes of him.

Zen people have great lives. They have good karma, good skin, and don't get themselves all muddled up in childish nonsense like hexing people out of the blew. Zen people, I'm sure, don't get detentions either.

The pros of this completely outweigh the cons. I might actually get Albus back as my friend too! That is certainly a positive.

Maybe I should start meditating? I could practice humming under my breath whenever Professor Shafiq's voice gets too much to bear. Next Hogsmeade, I might go into the shop that sells incense and trinkets and see if I can get myself a pair of nifty yoga trousers. Being Zen is all about comfort, you know.

I could definitely do this. In fact, I was doing it right now. With a mouth full of food, it was hard to suppress my smile. And why should I? I was on the track to complete calm and collected happiness and the world should know it! No more taking Rose Weasley for granted, no more throwing her under the bus with ridiculous rumours! This girl was starting afresh and there was nothing that could keep her down.

It's decided - Project Eliminate Negativity is now a go.

2) Quidditch practice went well.

Wait, no, that's definitely an understatement because Quidditch practice went _brilliantly_. I had armoured myself up in my uniform awaiting leers and mocking from my teammates (mostly expected from Selwyn) and held my head high as I marched into battle. I'm sure that they at least would have some teasing words for me. But I didn't need to. In fact, no one said a single word about my upcoming labours. They all greeted me as they usually did, Bran (Sex God extraordinaire in a Quidditch uniform, by the way) started his briefing and practice went on as per every other Quidditch practice I've ever attended. And I couldn't understand why.

Not that I was going to argue with the fact or make matters worse by _asking_ someone why no one was walking around me as if on eggshells. No, I simply fell into my usual role and, all in all practiced, very hard. It was quite easy to focus now that I was a practicing Zen queen. Our team was particularly good this season too. I'd say it was down to the the late addition (as of January) of Cameron Muldoon as beater, but we all fit together like a sporty little jigsaw puzzle. Brilliant indeed!

But, I suppose there was one slightly awkward moment at the end of the practice. To be honest, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Even being a Zen queen can't help me figure this one out.

I had landed my broom already and was peeling off my gloves when Bran decided to plop himself right next to me, giving me an awful fright. I'd be avoiding speaking to him directly all morning following our disastrous conversation in Herbology, but it seemed like he'd caught up to me.

Oh, _Merlin,_ he was so dreamy. So, so, so dreamy. In fact, almost so dreamy that one could forget how mortifying our previous conversation had been. I wanted to marry him and have six hundred of his brown haired beautiful children. I mean, it's not like they were going to get my red-haired gene and have their lives ruined for ever.

"Good practice today, Rose," he said, giving me one of his devilishly handsome grins. Honestly, if my feet hadn't been already planted firmly off the ground, I might have fallen from my broom to an inevitable death. They should put a warning label on smiles like that.

I returned his smile, albeit shakily. "Thanks. Though I can hardly say it was all me. Natalie's spacing skills have really improved over the break."

He nodded in agreement. "Absolutely." He paused there and chewed on the corner of his lip, and for a moment I had the horrifying feeling that our conversation in Herbology was about to resurface. No time for that, I'm afraid!

"Right, well," I said hurriedly, quickly picking my broom off the ground. "I better get -"

"Just wait a second," he said, as he crouched down to my level. He was inches away from my face and by Merlin, did he not just have the _most gorgeous_ eyes? Even if Bran got into some horrific accident that made him have to wear a full cloak at all times, and you could only see his eyes, he would still be ever as beautiful as he was now.

I had to remember to breathe. "Mm?" I somewhat choked out.

"I just, uh… I wanted to apologise. For yesterday afternoon."

Well, really, you _should_ be. Carrying on like I could actually have been pregnant and to an absolute incorrigible pig at that! Honestly, Bran, while you are positively dishy you can be a bit thick sometimes.

Before I could even mouth a protest or a reply or whatever one responds to a statement like that, his eyes were not so close to my own anymore and he was on his feet. "Hoping we're good from now on."

Hang on. I couldn't tell what exactly he was apologising for. Was he apologising because he realized he would have to be barking mad to believe that I was actually pregnant? Or was he apologising for jumping the gun and taking me off the team too early? I had no idea. I had no idea about _anything_ in this place anymore.

Why are people so bloody complicated? In the spirit of Zen, I have decided that it is very important to be completely transparent at all times. No secrets as secrets harbour bad feelings and can disrupt the inner peace. Honestly, I wish I could read his mind because then at least I'd understand where on earth he gets his ideas from!

With a quick pat on my shoulder - he does love touching my shoulders doesn't he? - he promptly turned and left me to my bewilderment.

Why is it that boys are so skilled at doing that? Particularly good-looking boys.

No, no, no. I was going to get myself all tizzied up again and that's no good for the cool and calm collected persona I am now encompassing. Breathe, Rose, breathe.

I'm sure I'll figure it out. Sooner or later.

3) Albus is talking to me again.

Sort of.

But honestly, if a quiet word and a nod in the hallway is all I can get at the moment then so be it. This is probably the longest he's gone without talking to me _ever_. It's getting a bit unbearable. Who else is going to do my DADA questions for me? Bea won't, because she's annoying like that, but Albus was always up for it.

Maybe this Zen business is starting to work - and quickly too!

I should write a book. Really, I should! _Regaining Your Life Through Zen: From Humiliating to Humming_ by Rose M. Weasley. That has such a great ring to it. I mean, I am a master at the Zen clearly. It's only taken a few hours and my life is already looking significantly more promising! I might not have to throw myself off of the Astronomy Tower after all.

It was eleven o'clock and I'd finally managed to wash the smell of broom polish out of my hair and I was wandering aimlessly back towards my Common Room. My conversation with Bran and the lack of frightful experiences at breakfast had left me feeling quite dazed. I was trying very, very, _very_ hard not to overthink things (not Zen-like at all) and to just carry on with my day as it was, but I still couldn't help myself getting wrapped up in my thoughts.

Bran Fenwick was possibly the most confusing creature on earth. It was one thing to admire him from a distance, but it was another to talk to him in person. Who'd have thought that whenever he spoke I'd end up completely lost? Not me. I had been imagining much prettier happenings - fireworks exploding, flower petals falling from the sky, all that kind of jazz.

But no, I just ended up getting myself into a right mess.

It was whilst battling between letting myself get caught up in this mess in my head and practicing my inner calm when a familiar voice spoke out.

"You alright there, Ro?"

Forget about my internal warfare, that voice scared the absolute trousers off of me. I jumped and blinked hard at the figure who was looking at me concerned.

Albus' head was tilted at the side, his eyes scanning my body. "Seriously, Rose, are you okay?"

I stared blankly at him. Huzzah! Words from the previously silent mouth. I didn't know whether to punch him or hug him.

"Y-Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "I'm okay."

His lips pursed together a little awkwardly. "You looked lost in your thoughts that's all."

"I was."

The exchange was so tense that I felt it draining my newly acquired Zen and calm away. ( _Nooo_! Must remain collected, must retain inner peace.) Albus and I sort of looked at each other for a very long time, and I didn't know what to say to fill the silence. It's not like I could apologise anymore - that's not what he wanted.

What he wanted was something I couldn't give. He wanted to go back to how we all were last year without feeling the need to stand between Malfoy and I as we attempt to tear each other apart. And that did make me sad. Of course I didn't _like_ making Albus feel like he had to choose between us. It's not like I was _making_ him.

But regardless of how we came to this point, I was still very glad he was speaking to me again.

"How are you?" I asked, offering him a small smile. It was a forced question, and not something we usually asked each other (we usually just _knew_ ), but part of being Zen involves diplomacy and small talk. I might as well start practicing on him.

Al shrugged. "'Right, s'pose. What about you?"

"Well, I'm not pregnant, if that's what you'd heard," I joked, hoping some humour might bring at least half a smile to his face. Instead, he was just looking at me in a very controlled, unreadable manner. Not fair when my face was a consistent open book.

"Yeah, well you'd have to be an idiot to actually believe that rubbish."

Oh thank Circe! I was wrong before in thinking the _entire_ school was certifiably mad! At least my trusty cousins (or at least one of them) have sensible heads on their shoulders. And maybe it was because of this sensible head that there were no more rumours going around!

I smiled at him hopefully. "Was it you that stopped them then?"

"Stopped what?"

"The rumours about me carrying Malfoy's dev - I mean, child."

Al shook his head and frowned. "No. It wasn't me." He sort of wriggled a bit awkwardly on the spot. "I better go though. I have to finish that Potions essay."

I hated being like this. He nodded at me by way of saying goodbye before hurrying down the corridor like he couldn't get rid of me fast enough. I just wanted to be normal again and to be friends. As much as he said he wasn't choosing between Malfoy and I, he had _clearly_ chosen the former.

I wanted to get angry about it. I wanted to kick and shout and call him unfair because we're _family_ and that's not what family to do each other. But - as my inner Zen queen reminded me - he was talking to me again, albeit it being awkward and very short lived. It was a start.

Maybe it was like the time when we were all in Fourth Year and Albus had a mighty big crush on Jessamine Su, but me, being the loudmouth that I am, couldn't quite resist telling her over a game of Truth or Tickle. It was a magical take on the traditional Muggle Truth or Dare, but instead of being able to choose dare you had to choose a Tickling Hex over telling the truth. We all obviously went took the honest route.

Albus didn't speak to me for two whole days (which was one less than he managed this time). I thought we were never going to speak again, and I even wrote my Aunt Ginny asking her to force him to forgive me. She didn't though - she simply sent me back a polite but pointed letter saying that perhaps I should stop letting my mouth getting carried away with itself.

Sage advice that I have yet to follow.

He finally broke his silence when I snuck into Hogsmeade and bought him a giant box of Zonko's goodies and a bag of Liquorice Lice, but for some reason I didn't think material bribery was going to work in my favour this time.

But at least I got _something_ out of him. It wasn't the perfect conversation nor the perfect forgiveness, but it's a start and I'll run with that for now.

I mean, honestly - how much longer could he actually hold out on me?

(I don't know if I want an answer to that or not.)

* * *

 **Saturday 9th September**

6:45pm

Even I have to admit that today went better than I ever expected. I mean, it had its ups and downs and I'm still completely confused about my exchange with Bran, but at least the desire to hide in my bed has finally waned.

Now I'm just sitting here stuck on my Potions essay (something Albus' conversation with me kindly reminded me that I still had to start). Professor Shafiq is a raving loon sometimes - the topic of this essay is surely not something we will be studying until _at least_ third term. I'm sure this would be easier to understand if I actually had a read of my textbook, but at the moment I am just too lazy.

Bea won't help me either - she's disappeared again. It's highly suspicious, you know. She's _always_ back in the Common Room after dinner. Merlin forbid she ever hand in assignment late, so she tends to get them done and dusted days in advance. I, on the other hand, much prefer the leave-it-until-you're-in-such-a-panic-it- _has_ -to-be-done method.

 _Describe the catalyst reaction that eel heart creates when combined with powered Asphodel - explain using at least three descriptors._

I mean, really - eel heart is barely used in _any_ potion and it hasn't been used in anything we've studied so far! How am I supposed to know what it looks like when mixed with asphodel? I'm not like Bea where I spend my summer break pretty much completing the year's syllabus in advance.

And how are we supposed to write two feet on this? _Three_ descriptors? I could bullet point those and be done with it! Does he constantly have to be such a sadist and drag these things out? It's not fair you know. He does this to weed out the lazy ones in the first term (first week!) when everyone is still trying to get out of their post-summer haze. No other Professors are quite this demanding. Professor Nordstrom, despite being spectacularly dull, didn't give homework until _at least_ week three.

Dum, dum, de dum… Eel heart… Asphodel… Blah, blah, blah.

Oh this is just so _boring_. Nobody else interesting is in the Common Room either, and Merlin forbid I enter the conflict zone that is the dormitory. Piper and Kathryn are still very much at odds and Jessamine isn't helping the situation at all. Miriam is doing her best to ease the tension but the poor thing looks absolutely wrecked in trying. Poor poppet, she doesn't know when to surrender and just leave them to kill each other.

Bran isn't in the Common Room either which is a mighty shame. Not that I would talk to him - I'm still reeling a bit from earlier today - but at least it would have been a nice view. I must somehow find out what sort of conditioner he uses on his hair because it is enviously soft looking. Not that I've touched it (ha, I wish!) but it is always so tempting to do so.

He does have a fantastic bum as well. I'm not even going to pretend to be ladylike about the fact. One of my favourite Common Room games is counting how many times I can catch him tending to the fire, just to get a glimpse. It's true, it seems I am a objectifying pervert. Bea and Mum would die on the spot if they knew.

Do you know what I _could_ write an essay about? The many attributes that Bran Fenwick possesses that prove him to be the most gorgeous boy to grace these halls. Forget about Albus and Scorpius (ew, and _ew_ ), Bran is where the standards are at.

 _Describe the catalyst reaction that Bran Fenwick creates when in a room with Rose Weasley - explain using at least three (more like thirty!) descriptors_.

1) His beautiful hair. Tall, dark and handsome is a cliche for a reason, you know.  
2) Those absolutely dreamy eyes. Sigh.  
3) When his jaw does that jumpy thing when he's concentrating.  
4) His skin! Merlin knows that boy must have the strictest skincare routine known to man because it is _flawless_ (if not a bit sun-kissed).  
5) His voice. Besides the time during Third and Fourth year where it would crack everytime he'd yell a warning for a Bludger in Quidditch, Bran's voice could lull me into a comfortable sleep in minutes.  
6) Despite being stupidly gullible about the fact that I'd gotten myself pregnant, he was awfully nice about it. And so concerned! He is a super, super lovely person which combined with his dishy physical features makes him all around quite perfect.

I could go on and on and _on_ for years except there are now a giggling group of Third Years that are being awfully annoying and distracting my Bran-filled dream world. Times like this were when I needed Bea to pop on her Prefect hat and give them a telling off. But alas, I am a mere Sixth Year and while you'd think thirteen year olds could have some respect for their elders, they unfortunately do not.

I wonder if it's safe to breach the dorm yet… Bea's not back and I kind of need her to make it bearable. The fighting tends to stop when she walks in.

Hmm. Decisions…


End file.
